Never mind
by headless-nic
Summary: When Mr Bennet suffers an accident, Lizzy takes over running their farm. Her life is rather boring until Mr Bingley buys Netherfield to turn into a conference centre & brings his friend as well as his scheming sister along. Quickly chaos ensues. Rated 'M' for safety.
1. Chapter 1 - Ancient gentry, so to speak

**_So, as promised, here is the re-posted story._**

 ** _From time to time I might take the liberty of taking my stories down to be able to enroll them in kindle unlimited, but they will always be back after a few months. Promise!_**

 ** _With this one, please remember that it is rated 'M' for a reason, and while it doesn't have any explicit adult scenes in it, there is a lot of profanity as well as nudity and adult situations. - You have been warned..._**

 ** _Oh, and it's obviously also comedy._**

 ** _Anyway, have fun reading_**

 ** _Love Nic_**

 _Chapter 1:  
Ancient gentry, so to speak_

It is a truth universally acknowledged, that at one point or other in life, people do doubt their earthly existence, wonder about its purpose and if every dull experience one had could have possibly been all there was to be had.

Under normal circumstances, this usually happens at a time when at a crossroads in life. A time when one is wise enough to realise that the path towards the end is constantly drawing nearer. Most commonly this time arrives at the age of fifty or so, when the children leave the house, the passion of married life has faded into a distant memory, that is, if it had been there in the first place, and the first grey hairs make an appearance and thus is aptly called Mid-life Crisis.  
With Elizabeth Bennet it was different. She was neither anywhere close to fifty, nor had she had, at the age of twenty-one, any children to look after, or at least not any of her own; or yet achieved very much aside from a decent bachelor's degree. No, that was all before her, and still, as her life changed in the blink of an eye, she had felt just as trapped by circumstance as any of her parents' generation could feel upon realising that they were needed no longer, or at any rate not so much anymore.

And again, there was a great difference, for Elizabeth was needed very much at present, too much even. Still doubting her existence she did quite a lot... - And seriously, how could she not feel as if life passed her by somehow? It very decidedly did. What life anyway? She didn't really have much of one. Not anymore.  
Her crossroads had been when her father had been trapped underneath a malfunctioning dump trailer he had intended to bring in for repair. How exactly it had happened, no-one really knew, but it _had_ happened. Much to the shock of his whole family, needless to add. It was not that he had died, no, so much tragedy, though for their neighbours it would have been so much more deliciously morbid to gossip about, had been spared the Bennet-Family, but for the time being, he was bound to a wheelchair and being a farmer, that was not exactly a good place to be in.  
Elizabeth Bennet had then been just about to leave for the new semester at university where she studied for a master's degree in biology and a bachelor's degree in agriculture when the accident happened and had gone outside to bid her father farewell, bags all packed and ready. His cries for help had chilled her to the bone, but at the time she had managed to stay perfectly calm, had called 999 while holding her father's hand and stood by when Mr Bennet was rushed into hospital in an ambulance. Only then had she walked back to the house to tell her mother and sisters of what had happened.

Mrs Bennet had dissolved into hysterics immediately after receiving the news, unable to take matters into hand while her older sister Jane had been in London in the middle of her examinations to become a paediatric nurse, not a good time to disrupt her. Mary, her middle sister was working hard for her A-levels and could hardly spare any time, and Kitty and Lydia, her two youngest siblings were too young and silly to be of much use. Though at least, it should be mentioned that Kitty had tried to help as best as she could with taking over kitchen duty, however, this ended in yet another disaster when she served them undercooked chicken, making the meal a rather shitty experience, so to say.

In short, Elizabeth had to step in, whether she wanted it or not.  
With a trembling voice, she had called her uni and asked for some time off, for how long she knew not. The result was, that she now had unlimited leave, though that term was a bit misleading. Unlimited was, after all, not quite as unlimited as the term might generally suggest, but at least for the next two years, there was no need to worry,with regards to her education. Otherwise, she had very much to worry about.

Her mother had taken to bed for a week, most of the time sedated by Dr Jones their GP. Francis Bennet, more commonly known as Fanny, was a high strung woman at the best of times, but now she had a field day with complaining about her "poor nerves", hogging all the attention her unfortunate husband actually deserved. Not that he took notice since he had been put in an artificial coma, but never mind.  
So, for Elizabeth, there was little else to do other than to take the very trailer which had almost cost her father's life and bring it in for repair, take over the ploughing and sowing of the crops as well as looking after the animals. - Not exactly the life she had pictured for herself, but who else was there to manage the Longbourn Estate while Tom Bennet could not?

Longbourn, her family home was an old estate comprised of Longbourn House surrounded by a little park, these days a little overgrown, but hey, and the adjoining farm a couple of hundred yards away, both of which had been owned by her family for literally generations. They were ancient gentry, so to speak. No title though.

The farm itself was well kept, for Mr Bennet, often tired of the hubbub within his home, spent as much time there as he possibly could and he actually took great pride in what he was doing.

Most days he might be a far cry from his ancestral country squires, who had little else to do but socialise, but if Thomas Bennet wanted to, he could be the perfect gentleman. His education was excellent. He had studied philosophy and English literature at Cambridge, no less, and had left with two master's degrees, though neither had been of much use for him, truth be told.

When he was not working in the farmyard, he still loved to read, and over it often forgot the time, but his greatest amusement he found in the follies of the people around him, with his wife being a seemingly endless source for his entertainment, as were the many hapless people from town that spilt into the countryside over the summer weekends.  
'Hey, Lizzy, look at all those people from London coming here on a Sunday afternoon to snivel around the countryside wrinkling up their noses at us country folk - what they don't realise, is that it is us who feed them. We could well live without them, but they are dependant on us and too stupid to realise it!' he would often say, when once again there had been a knock on the door from people who either got lost on the winding roads around Meryton, despite their high-tech GPS, to ask their way, or who decided that a Sunday afternoon is the perfect time to buy some eggs, preferably for cheaper than in the shops.

In short, he was practical, intelligent and sported a very sarcastic sense of humour.  
Elizabeth very decidedly took after him. There was no point denying it.  
Mrs Bennet was an altogether different matter though. She was not exactly a sensible woman, but even in her mid-forties, she was actually a very pretty one with her thick brown hair cut into a practical but cute bob, her heart-shaped face, pouty mouth, almond-shaped eyes and her still excellent figure. It was as if all the efforts in creating her had gone into her exterior, while the interior had somehow stayed unfinished.

At the best of times she was short-tempered, often out of spirits, most of the time a nervous wreck and for the rest all excitement for one thing or another.

Her purpose in life was to win the Victoria Sponge Competition, nag her daughters, usually about completely irrelevant stuff, while she hardly ever bothered to do so over school work, and find them husbands. Yep, find them husbands. - So she could have grandchildren. Fanny Bennet loved babies. They were always _so_ cute, weren't they? Whether it would make her daughters happy was secondary as long as they were fertile. Well, they did live on a farm and perhaps breeding pigs and cows had left their mark over the years. Baby animals were cute, too, after all, and hence in Mrs Bennet's case that might have very well been so, for she had always been easy to impress.

At this point, several months had passed since that fateful day, and currently, Mr Bennet was down in Cornwall to recover his health, though Elizabeth sometimes had the sneaky suspicion that he simply preferred the peace and quiet there to the boisterousness of his own home to get better. She could hardly fault him for that.

September had come, the crops had been brought in _and_ sold for a good price, Jane had returned home for a couple of weeks, and thus far all was well. One could almost say things were back to normal. Or at least as normal as things usually were at Longbourn House.  
It was rather late one Friday evening in mid-September when Fanny Bennet arrived home after her weekly Bridge Club meeting and found her daughters all sitting on the thick rug in front of the telly surrounded by a mountain of pillows, cushions and blankets, watching "Sense and Sensibility". - One of the very few movies they all liked.  
'Girls, I have excellent news!' Mrs Bennet cried out, barging into the room, almost stumbling over the half-empty bowl of popcorn inconveniently standing in her path.  
All but Lydia, who was too busy swooning over Mr Willoughby on the screen, glanced up at her expectantly and with some bewilderment.  
'Netherfield Park has been sold at last!'  
'Really?' Elizabeth inquired, raising a sceptical eyebrow. 'And who was crazy enough to buy that old hutch?'  
'Old hutch?! Really, Lizzy, it is the grandest house around - and it has just been bought by a young businessman from somewhere up north, Bingley is his name if I remember correctly. You know I am not very good with names. Anyway, he intends to turn it into a conference centre, isn't that great?'  
'It _used_ to be the grandest house around, about two hundred years ago, Mama. Why do you think it has stood empty for so long? Because its substance is crumbling and the gardens are completely overgrown, that's why. I am not quite sure whether I should pity this man or think him immensely stupid.'  
'Well, it is conveniently close to London,' Jane remarked quietly, 'which might have induced him to purchase. The location certainly is an advantage, you have to admit it.'  
'Yes, but that is pretty much the _only_ advantage. He will have to invest millions to get that house back into shape.'  
'Is he cute?' Kitty piped up out of the blue.  
Elizabeth could hardly help to roll her eyes. Of course, that would be the only thing her sister would be thinking about. At seventeen Kitty had hardly any interest in anything aside from fashion and boys – and fashion. Oh, and boys, of course.  
'Who?' her mother asked startled for a moment. 'Oh, Mr Bingley you mean. I don't know. Monica only told me that he was _very_ wealthy - owns a whole chain of these things.'  
'Well, if that is the case,' Elizabeth could not help remarking in a dry tone of voice, 'he must be considered extremely handsome, for is not a well-cushioned bank account the sexiest and most attractive part of any man?'  
'Lizzy, how can you talk so? I am sure he is very amiable and handsome,' Jane scolded her mildly, though the corners of her mouth twitched suspiciously.  
'Yes, and he will arrive here in a shining suit of armour and ride a gleaming white horse, and will be adored by everyone... - Oh come now, how many amiable _successful_ businessmen have you met, Jane?' Elizabeth asked back, usually not quite as optimistic as her oldest sister.  
'Many, I believe.'  
At that answer, Elizabeth could not help shaking her head, if only very slightly.

Sometimes Jane was too good to be an actual human being. She pointedly refused to think badly of anybody, which, though admirable, was not always a wise thing to do.  
'At any rate, we are to meet him next Friday at the Harvest Ball at the Old Assembly Hall,' Mrs Bennet chirped happily, plunking down amongst her flock of daughters. 'Monica says he wants to get to know the people around here since he would be doing business with them.'  
'Oh please, Mum, don't tell me you want us to go _again_ this year,' Lydia wailed, and for once Elizabeth was d'accord with her.  
Said Harvest Ball was a much-cherished tradition. - Among the older population of Meryton and the surrounding villages.

It was held by the Farmer's Wives Association, of which Fanny Bennet was the second secretary, and though they desperately tried every single year, none of her daughters had as yet managed to escape this event. It was not so much the music, not even the ballroom-dancing that made them want to run, but the fact that it was held in costume. For that one night every year, time would be turned back two hundred years and they would all wear Regency attire, silly curls and all. The people around here were very particular about that, though why the dances comprised mainly of two-steps, foxtrots and cha-cha-chas, was beyond Elizabeth. It was not as if any of these dances had been invented by then and a waltz at that time had been deemed a _very_ scandalous affair if she remembered it correctly.  
'Oh, but don't you want to see Mary dance?' Mrs Bennet asked sweetly, knowing that they would not let their sister down, even though she was bound to make a fool of herself once again.  
Mary was the plainest of the five sisters and as if to compensate for that fact, she worked not only very hard at school but also at public display. She sang in the choir, though her voice was weak and no matter how loud the others sang, one could always distinguish her slightly off-chord soprano like a single mosquito in an otherwise quiet room. And then there was the Morris Dancing, which in this instance was what their mother had been referring to.

Now was there anything more embarrassing than to hop around with bells around one's calves or ankles wielding sticks and handkerchiefs? Probably not. But Mary was determined to do it.

Ah, well, never mind.


	2. Chapter 2 - I DO NOT DANCE!

_Chapter 2:_

 _I DO NOT DANCE!_

'Bloody hell, I look like a poodle!' Lydia yelled staring at her image in the mirror.  
There was little use denying it. She _did_ look like a poodle.  
'Perhaps the micro curlers were not such a good idea after all,' Mrs Bennet stammered, looking at her youngest daughter from underneath her lace cap which hid her own modern hairstyle at least to an extent.

After a moment of contemplation, however, she smiled: 'Oh, well, but never mind, I think it actually looks very historically accurate. You will be the belle of the ball, my dear.'  
Elizabeth bit her tongue to swallow her remark about fashionable cress heads, knowing the tantrum that would surely follow if she did say it out loud.  
Having naturally curly hair, Elizabeth was lucky to have escaped the curlers of doom, but to pin up her thick long hair in a decent fashion would be challenging enough as it was. At least it was still damp from her shower, which made it slightly easier. Still, it took her a good fifteen minutes until she was happy with how she looked, or at least as happy as she could be, considering that all she actually wanted to do was plunk down on the couch in her room and read.

It had been a long day on the farm though Jane had helped her with mucking out the stables while Kitty and Lydia had tried to turn their plain bonnets into something more exciting by glueing brightly coloured rhinestones onto them. The result was pretty. Pretty tacky.

Elizabeth's back ached and her hands were swollen from the hard work and she felt as if even after her long hot shower she still smelled of manure. At least that odour went very well with the ghastly perfume her mother had drenched all their dresses in. A constant waft of _eau de terrible_ drifted around the six of them with every step they took. Elizabeth was sure that this evening would not end without the one or other fainting fit from their respective dance partners.

Jane was probably the only one who really looked lovely in her outfit of light blue muslin. It hugged her graceful figure in a way that was nothing short of breathtaking and her golden blond hair was draped in soft curls around her face and then tied into a neat braided bun atop her head. Kitty didn't look all that bad either, but her gown was slightly too short to hide the bright neon-pink ballerinas she was wearing, each sporting a sparkly playboy-bunny.  
At last Elizabeth slipped into her own dress, a soft rose-coloured affair with some delicate white flowers embroidered at the hem. Jane had made it for her three years ago after she had outgrown her old costume and it fit like a glove. Jane was good at such things as making dresses, she had all the patience for such fiddly work Elizabeth lacked. Okay, she didn't look all that bad herself, but wearing a dress felt decidedly weird and her discomfort showed.

From all the sisters, Mary was the only one who really looked forward to the ball, though the dress she wore was far from flattering her short and chubby figure, let alone her complexion. Mint-green was a risky colour for someone so colourless and pasty-faced. Mary would not wear the gown for long, however, and her Morris Dancing costume had gone into the family van long before they had even started to get ready. Now it blocked two whole seats as they crammed into the remaining bench, for they had promised to pick up Monica Long, along the way.  
'Aw, don't you look lovely?' Monica, who contrary to her surname stood actually a meagre five foot one, cooed, adjusting her wig. 'Love your hair, Lyddy.'  
The thus addressed merely huffed with indignation.  
'And Jane, such a beauty. I am sure you will turn all the young men's heads.'  
'What young men?', Elizabeth wondered, muttering under her breath so no-one but Jane would hear her.

Young men were scarce at such events as this. Lucky bastards! The youngest man around, in all probability, would be their cousin William and his head she was pretty certain, no-one would want to turn voluntarily.

'You look well, too, Lizzy. And look at your hair! Not your usual messy bun is it?' Mrs Long merrily chattered on.

Her mouth never really stopped working and there were rumours that she spoke even while asleep. It was a strong possibility.  
'Thank you, Monica.'

Damn, she should have thought about bringing her MP3...

They were, of course, early, arriving before all the others as always, just as they would leave _after_ everybody else. Which meant that each and everyone would see them upon entering the brightly lit ballroom.

It was actually a lovely room, Elizabeth had to admit. Or it would be if it were not for the glaring, ghastly looking neon lights dangling from the intricately plastered ceiling; the beautifully polished wooden floor had aged and darkened over the many centuries it had adorned this hall and the walls were a pretty cream colour, at least where one could see it, above the dark wood panelling, which went up the wall about half-way. Here and there surprisingly decent pictures and a majority and over-abundance of very ugly ones all painted by local artists had been hung up rather haphazardly on the plastered part of the wall and with that making it almost impossible to look at them properly. Which perhaps, thinking about it, was a good thing. On one end there was a balcony where once the musicians had sat and where now the DJ had built up his equipment, its bannister prettily carved and of the same dark colour as the lower portions of the walls. As said, it could have been a lovely room, if...

But before Elizabeth could marvel any more about the rooms loftiness and its understated original decorations, Mr Collins arrived.  
'Ah, I thought I would find you here already,' he grinned, literally from ear to ear. 'Fanny, dear, you have outdone yourself. - Oh, and you as well, of course, Monica.'  
Mrs Long gave an awkward curtsy, while Mrs Bennet waved his comment aside with an impatient gesture of her hand, which immediately led the man to begin a whole tirade of compliments of all the work she had put in there.  
'No, no, Fanny, don't be so modest. It almost looks like the dining room at Rosings, Lady Catherine de Bourgh's residence, you remember? You know, I go there at least once a year to attend a seminar or two, so I know the place pretty well. It is basically my second home. Lady Catherine is such a great lady and interested in so many things, one never quite knows, what course she will offer next and I, for my part, am always eager to learn something new.'  
Lady Catherine de Bourgh, ran an "event seminar", or at least so she called it. In reality, it was nothing more than a fancier community college charging horrendous prices for ridiculous courses. Said _courses_ were usually of no practical use for anybody with the sole exception of William Collins, that was. Last year, he had taken one in painting pottery, the year before, he had done courses on miniature gardens and creative cooking, the latter, upon coming home, leading to a rather unfortunate event involving the fire brigade, and three years back, he had partaken in a writing course. Since then writing trashy historical romance novels was his main occupation. Penny Morton was his pseudonym, much to everybody's amusement and when not immediately around, that was, what he was called by almost everybody. Well by everybody aside from Jane.

Slowly but surely the ballroom filled with people, all determined to look as if they had put an effort into their attire, while it was blatantly obvious that most had, at the last minute, thrown together whatever they had gotten hold of and of which they assumed looked like something worn two hundred years back. Very few had succeeded. Okay, not many had a Jane around who would actually _make_ dresses just for this occasion, and even less, who would take care of historical accuracy.

Their aunt Mrs Philips, for example, though wearing the right style, had chosen a fabric that on closer inspection sported tiny daffodils, Easter eggs and, naturally, Easter bunnies.

As always, the first couple of dances went anything but smoothly. Many people stood around chatting in the middle of the dance floor, standing in the way of those who at least attempted to dance at a ball and at any rate, everyone most eagerly awaited the mysterious Mr Bingley, who was yet to come. And finally, he did arrive. Like Moses parting the Red Sea, the crowd split in two to make way for him and his entourage.

He was surprisingly young and actually looked very friendly, his blue eyes sparkled with glee and good humour, and it was quite obvious, that he was determined to have a good time. His companions, however, more than made up for his amiable personality.  
'Wow, he _is_ cute!' Kitty exclaimed breathlessly, once it had been established that indeed this very young and charming man was the illustrious Mr Bingley.  
'Yep, would not throw him off my bed either,' Lydia retorted, loud enough for half the people around them to hear. 'And look at that bloke with him... - Yummy! Let's hope they aren't gay.'  
Said "bloke" was another young man, perhaps a little older than Mr Bingley, with dark curly hair, grey eyes and an indignant expression. Elizabeth immediately disliked him, even though she had to admit, that he was quite a hunk. Yes, okay, she, too, wanted to be anywhere but here, but heck, did he need to make it so very obvious that he detested his present company? Well, looking at the young lady by his side, perhaps it had little to do with them and very much to do with her. She was the only person not wearing a costume, for at least there the stranger had made a real effort just as his friend had, and in her high heels and flimsy little red dress, that looked so cheap it must have been very expensive, appeared as if the kind of dancing she normally was accustomed to involved either a pole or a table, or probably both.  
'Hi!' someone suddenly piped up behind them and wheeling around, Elizabeth came face to face with her best friend Charlotte Lucas, wearing a black skirt, white blouse, little white waitress' apron, the one that was fashionable about thirty years ago, and a tiny bonnety thing on her short pixie cut.  
'Whoa, I didn't know you would be here, Lottie.'  
'Yeah well, had I known, I would have told you, but Jessica fell _ill_ and I was only called this very evening to help out. I hadn't even had the time to change into something suitable, I fear, so I just quickly grabbed whatever I could find. Not that it matters, if I look around,' Charlotte answered sardonically, shrugging her shoulders.  
Said Jessica was in Kitty's class, though she should have been in Mary's and she also happened to occasionally job as a waitress, though more often than not was calling in sick at the last minute only to be found in the one or other club hanging out with her friends, usually piss-drunk. No need to guess, what her priorities were.  
'It is just as well since I can do with a bit of extra money. Well, hopefully, my application at Netherfield gets accepted,' Charlotte carried on, looking over her shoulder lest Mrs Bennet should see her _idling_ around. 'I went there yesterday for an interview, and I at least want to believe that it went well...'  
'I don't think they could find anybody around here better suited to run a restaurant, sweety,' Elizabeth replied encouragingly.  
'They could bring in someone from London.'  
'Well, yes. But why would they do that when they can have you?'  
'Dunno.'  
'You said you went there for an interview yesterday, do you happen to know who all these people are?'  
Turning slightly, Charlotte began to point discreetly at the respective figures: 'Mr Bingley, his sister Caroline, those two I haven't met, and that is Mr Darcy, a chum of his.'  
'Ah!'

Unfortunately, at that moment, Mrs Bennet spotted the two of them and with a stern glance at Charlotte steered across the room.  
'Charlotte, could you please have a look at the buffet? Mrs Goulding managed to tear all the cold cuts apart to see which slices are the leanest in order to not ruin her diet.'  
With raised eyebrows, the two friends parted and Elizabeth was about to walk over to the bar, some things were just too hard to bear without a certain intake of alcohol, when she was held back by her mother.  
'Lizzy, wait, I have to ask you something,' she cried out, then glanced pointedly over at the dance floor and beyond, right where the ominous looking Mr Darcy stood.  
Elizabeth's gaze followed her and with some pleasure, she also saw that Mr Bingley was presently dancing with a serenely smiling Jane.  
' _Yes_?' she inquired when her mother did not carry on, choosing to ignore the sinking feeling she had.  
But Mrs Bennet, too, had spotted her oldest daughter dancing with their new "neighbour" and for a moment appeared slightly confused before recollecting what she had been about to ask.

'Oh, yes, I almost forgot. See, that man there is called Darcy, and he is quite rich, some say he is even richer than Mr Bingley.'  
' _And_?' Elizabeth dug deeper, wondering where this was going.  
She had an inkling, but hoped she would be wrong in that, but nope!  
'Well, Lizzy, go over there and dance with him! He might not be a pleasant man, but he is our guest. I cannot have him stand there all evening without anyone asking him to dance.'  
'I was under the impression that it is the men who ask the ladies to dance, not the other way around.'  
'Oh, come on, don't be silly. Who cares about these old-fashioned rules nowadays?' her mother replied indignantly.  
'Considering that this is supposed to be a Regency ball, I thought...'  
'Codswallop!'  
That particular expression on her mother's face, Elizabeth knew all too well. There was no point resisting any longer. Fanny Bennet would not waver, no matter what arguments she would bring forward.

Resigned to her fate, Elizabeth manoeuvred herself across the dancefloor towards the other end of it where Mr Darcy stood. By the way, where the heck was Mr Bingley's sister? Oh, over there, trying to shake off Penny. Good luck with that. Knowing her father's cousin, that could be a while. And oops, there the man was already. When had she come so close?  
'Mr Darcy?' she asked tentatively, even curtsying awkwardly.  
All his answer was a raised eyebrow and yet another indignant look.  
'May I have the next dance?' she curtsied again, feeling immensely silly.  
Surprised he looked at her, then inclined his head slightly and with a grimace answered: 'I don't dance.'  
Funnily enough, his rejection spurned something in her. How dare he! Too fine to dance at an assembly as this, was he? And that after she had basically been forced to make an utter fool of herself!  
'Neither do I actually, but since this is a ball, some might think it offensive if we don't.'  
'I already told you that I don't dance,' he repeated with an exasperated mien as if she were slow to understand his meaning.  
'But...' she tried again.  
'What is there to misunderstand, Miss whatever-your -name-is? But let me spell it out for you: I DO NOT DANCE!'  
Wow, what a _wanker_!  
'Then suit yourself, Sir all-high-and-mighty,' she smiled overly sweet, curtsying once again just for good measure, before departing to find her friend and a drink.

As it was, Charlotte was still busy at the buffet.

Not only had Mrs Goulding tried to find the leanest pieces of meat it seemed, but Lydia had managed to spill her coke over most of the table, and the cheese-platter, as well as the smoked salmon, which now swam in a brown puddle of fizzy drink. Several paper napkins had been used in an attempt to clean up the mess, without much success before unceremoniously discarding them; and dirty dishes and half eaten food was all over the place. In short, the buffet looked like a battlefield, just not quite as organised.  
'Wait, I'll give you a hand, Lottie,' Elizabeth sighed.

 _Hopefully doing something active would pass the time.  
'Thanks, Eliza. And? What did Mr Darcy say?' her friend gratefully accepted her help. 'I presume you have been told by your mum to dance with him?'  
'Yep, and he refused point blank. I swear either he really is the most unpleasant fellow I have ever met, or his breeches pinch his privates.'  
'He did not look much of a happy bunny yesterday either.'  
'Shame. I had hoped for the later.'  
'With breeches like this, it is not very likely that anything gets trapped there, Lizzy,' Charlotte smirked.  
'And there I was hoping for a well-endowed man at last,' Elizabeth sighed theatrically, making Charlotte laugh out loud.  
'Excuse me, do you know where the toilets are?' the older lady of the Bingley party suddenly approached them.  
'Loos are down the corridor and then to the right.'  
'Ah,' the lady replied dismissively, and Elizabeth wondered if she had said something wrong. _  
Oh, yes, of course, snobby people used "toilets", "loos" were for the plebs...


	3. Chapter 3 - The infamous HSD

_Chapter 3:_

 _The infamous Horsham Stick Dance_

There is a time at every party, and especially an awkward one, where people start to wish to go home but don't quite dare do so for fear of offending. The result normally is a fairly querulous atmosphere, and Mrs Bennet with astonishing skill had chosen exactly that time for Meryton Morris, the local morris dancing group, to perform. One could almost call it ingenious. But only almost.

Mary and all the other dancers had changed into their costumes a while back already and were obviously eager to start. And no, the costumes were not one of these still fairly cool affairs with the rags attached to a tunic and blackened faces, oh no, a bright green frock with tiny white polka dots awkwardly reaching just a little lower than the knees, with a yellow and light blue stripy pinafore and ruffled bonnet as well as wooden clogs was their chosen attire. The ensemble, with its bright and cheerful colours, would have been very charming on a group of pre-schoolers, but looked decidedly odd on the mainly middle-aged and elderly lasses. Mary was the youngest member of Meryton Morris by a good two decades.  
When after a particularly tedious rumba the DJ finally took a break, the fiddler, as well as the lady playing the melodeon, stepped onto the stage and promptly began to play an annoyingly cheerful tune. Okay, that was to be expected. Morris tunes were bound to be grating, right? But thinking about it, perhaps it was more the fact that the fiddler was already deep in his cups. Whatever. Never mind.

From the recesses of the assembly hall, the rest of the group, cheerfully waving their handkerchiefs at the crowd, hopped onto the stage and enthusiastically began their performance. Hankies whirled through the air, one or two of the dancers in their wooden clogs slid slightly on the polished wooden floor of the stage, but aside from that, all went well enough. So far so good.

But next was to be the Horsham Stick Dance, and that had always been a sure recipe for disaster. As far as Elizabeth was aware as yet it had frequently ended in at least a minor catastrophe. For some, handling one stick was already tricky enough, while two were bound to wreak havoc, for sure. Elizabeth watched with some mortification as Mary accidentally used the longer stick firmly held in her right hand, when she should have used the shorter one in her left, hitting her current partner firmly on the wrist. Yelping the woman let go of her shorter stick only to be struck again by Mary, a little slow in her reactions.

Closing her eyes Elizabeth hoped a hole would open beneath her, but as always, such luck was not for her. All she could do was watch on as slowly but surely chaos ensued.

Mary, now completely out of step, turned the wrong way, and consequently one of her sticks collided with the back of the head of another member of her group, while her actual partner stood slightly bedazzled trying her best to carry on without an opposite, her sticks whooshing aimlessly around in the air where they should have been met by her sister's.

The room was erupting with laughter while poor Mary tried her best to ignore her mishap and dance on, only to stumble over the stick that had fallen from her other partner's hand and end up in a sorry heap on the floor creating some kind of chain reaction.

Enough was enough! Unable to watch the performance any longer, Elizabeth turned and almost stumbled herself when she became aware that Mr Darcy was standing right behind her, watching on with mirthful eyes and a twitching lip, desperately trying not to burst out laughing. Miss Bingley was not so courteous and her spiteful cackle sounded particularly irksome.  
'Dear me, Mr Darcy, what a spectacle! Seriously, these people shouldn't even be allowed to walk down the street unsupported by a responsible adult, for one must fear they'd stumble over their own feet at any given moment and end up in front of one's car,' she whispered audibly as soon as she saw Elizabeth's face flush in apparent shame.

Mr Darcy only shrugged his shoulders almost unnoticeably, whether it was in acquiescence or to oppose his partner's statement was not entirely clear, but Elizabeth was quite sure it was the former. Actually, looking at the mismatched pair, he in his prim and proper Regency attire looking quite regal, and Miss Bingley in her scanty little négligé looking like a prostitute, Elizabeth thought they, and Miss Bingley in particular, had little reason to make sport of others. Her eyes shot daggers at them both before she, at last, brushed past them and outside.

A breath of fresh air was more than needed, at this point, it was the only thing that assured her survival of this damn evening. Well, that and a couple of shots of Tequila.

When she returned back inside, thankfully the chaos had subsided but nonetheless, Elizabeth made a bee-line for the bar.  
'You look dreadful, Eliza,' Charlotte commented dryly and without Elizabeth needing to say a word, poured her two shots before cutting the lemon.  
'I feel dreadful. But Mary is determined to do it, and once she has set her mind on something, there is no possible way to stop her.'

Damn, the Tequila was just what she had needed!  
'Hm, so stubbornness runs in the family? Funny I never noticed before,' Charlotte grinned broadly, adjusting the ill-fitting cap on her head.  
Her glance trailing to something behind Elizabeth Charlotte suddenly looked wistful.  
'Lizzy, have you noticed how much attention Mr Bingley pays to Jane?'  
Elizabeth had not, aside from that they had danced. She had simply been too busy reining in her younger sisters to notice much around her aside from things like Lydia trying to sneak some alcohol, or Kitty, all the while whining that there were so few young men, trying to slip into the pub to the other side of the building, where such were surely to be found and last but not least Mary wise-cracking as if she was at least a hundred years old. Not to mention her mother, who, with every sip of wine she had, spoke louder and louder while at the same time with less and less sense. When she had announced Meryton Morris, her voice had been positively slurred, but at least she had not required a microphone.

Curiously turning around she followed Charlotte's gaze and found Jane among the masses, and sure enough, there right beside her, stood Mr Bingley with what could only be described as an adoring smile on his face. Well, Jane was beyond any doubt the prettiest girl in the room, no wonder the young man was drawn to her like a moth to the light.  
'Well, it does seem as if he likes her very much,' Elizabeth replied, reaching for her other Tequila.

'I'll have a glass of Bushmill's please,' an unpleasantly familiar voice chimed up behind her just when she had started to relax somewhat.

Though, giving it a second thought, chimed probably was the wrong word to use for Mr Darcy's soft baritone. So, he looked nice, had a nice voice, so why did he have to have such a shitty personality? And besides, how come he had such an amiable friend? Okay, the latter was perhaps easily explained. If Mr Bingley wasn't as amiable, he presumably would never have befriended such a pompous arse.  
'Are you well?' he asked softly, looking her directly in the eye.  
Elizabeth honestly almost choked at his address. Wow, had his slutty crony refused to share his bed tonight and made it necessary for him to seek an alternative or something? If that was the case, it would certainly not be her. Nope, Mister.  
'Yes, thank you. I'm absolutely fantastic,' she answered with as much nonchalance as she could.  
'I'm glad to hear it. You looked very pale earlier on, but it seems the fresh air has done you some good. It always does with me.'  
Oh shit, and there she had been thinking they had sod-all in common...  
Forcing her face into a smile, which she assumed looked more like the grimace of a deranged woman, and honestly, at this point she was almost sure that one day her mother and younger sisters would drive her over the edge for real, she testily replied: 'Yes, it always works a treat, doesn't it?'  
Darcy took his glass of Whiskey from Charlotte and gulped it down in one, then glanced over his shoulder with a frown. His intuition apparently hadn't failed him. Miss Bingley was fast approaching alongside her companion, of whom Elizabeth still didn't know who she really was, both coming from the direction of the loo, or rather the "toilet".

Why most women never ventured to the bathroom alone, was beyond her. Did they need to wipe each other's bottoms or was it just to chat about boys/men? Okay, with Kitty and Lydia the answer was an easy one, but fortunately, they were not the measure of all things.  
'I'll have another one, please. Make it a double,' the man beside her sighed.  
'Trouble in paradise?' Elizabeth could not help asking, though mentally kicking herself for it.  
'Pardon?' Darcy stammered, completely taken aback.  
'Did you quarrel with your girlfriend?' she inquired, slightly inclining her head towards the two women.  
'What? Caroline Bingley?!' the shock on his face was almost comical. 'Oh, no! NO! - Miss whatever-your-name-is. Caroline most certainly isn't my girlfriend, she just has the unfortunate habit of clinging to my arm and seriously, it is no minor feat to get her off of there. I would love to blame it on her shoes, but seeing her approach right now, she seems to do very well even without support. Her mother can hardly keep up with her.'  
'That's her _mother_?'  
'Yep,' he replied, sounding fairly frustrated.  
'You really don't want to be here, do you?' Elizabeth could not help asking.  
He had almost appeared pleasant only a moment before, but now he was back to his frowning abrasive self.

Hm, perhaps it really had less to do with her than with the harpy now descending on him, leaving him only to mutter a simple 'Nope!' in reply just before they were close enough to hear.  
'Ah, there you are Fitzwilliam!' Miss Bingley cooed, and the man's face darkened even more.  
Poor sod. Wait, Fitzwilliam? His first name was _Fitz_ william?! Bloody hell, had his parents been drunk when they had named him? Even _her_ mother had managed to give them sensible and timeless names and she was as far from sensible as the moon was from the earth.  
Miss Bingley's gaze fell on Elizabeth and immediately she pouted. Now, duck-face was never a flattering expression, was it?  
'We'll have two glasses of Claret, Miss,' the mother ordered with surprising politeness, then turned to Elizabeth. 'Would you like one as well?'

Eh, what was going on?  
'Well, um...'  
Smiling sweetly the woman ordered another glass without waiting for a reply. Okay...?  
'I understand you are Jane's sister? Elizabeth, right?' the lady began and suddenly Elizabeth felt stupid for not having realised it immediately that this had little to do with friendliness, but that they wanted to milk her for information such as: What's your sister's profession? What does her family do? Is she a gold-digger? How many boyfriends did she have? Does she suffer from any hereditary diseases? And while we're at it, has she any venereal ones?  
Suppressing the urge to roll her eyes, Elizabeth answered in the affirmative. After all, there was nothing to be ashamed of in running an estate, even though it was just a small one, was there?  
'She's a very dear girl, isn't she?' Caroline threw in, making it sound as if that was somehow despicable.  
'Yes, she is the kindest person I know,' Elizabeth replied truthfully.  
'She sure looks it,' Mrs Bingley took the lead again. 'What does she do? Professionally I mean.'  
There we go, Elizabeth thought wryly, sipping on her wine while noticing from the corner of her eye that Mr Darcy beckoned to Charlotte to refill his glass once again. He either was a drunkard or really desperate to erase his memory and sink into oblivion. Her guess was on the latter.  
'She's a paediatric nurse at Barts in...'  
'Oh, that is some way to drive from here every morning, isn't it? How tedious to have to get up hours before work actually starts. It must be _so_ fatiguing!' Caroline interrupted, while her mother's face had actually softened at that bit of information.  
Perhaps _she_ wasn't so bad after all.  
'Not really. I mean, it would be, but she normally lives in London. Jane has only been here for the harvest, to help around the house and farm.'  
'Oh, your parents have a farm? How charming? Did you hear that Fitzwilliam?'  
Well, there was little doubt that Mr Darcy had heard her. The shrill voices of the two ladies and that of Miss Bingley, in particular, was hard to ignore, even if one was determined to do so. And she was also pretty sure that he had never even come close to a farmyard.  
'I did,' he replied dryly, his meaning obvious.  
'Are you specialised in anything in particular?' he inquired after taking a swig from his glass, and to Elizabeth's great astonishment he sounded sincerely interested.  
'Yes and no. My father doesn't believe in big scale one-sided farming so we have a bit of everything. However, we mainly produce milk. Or rather our cows do. You know these four-legged creatures with the horns and an udder dangling between their hind legs? The one with four teats, if it has only got one it's a bull.'  
Miss Bingley wrinkled her nose as if a whiff of dung had hit her right in the middle of the ballroom, while Darcy, to her astonishment, chuckled: 'You forgot to mention their beautiful trusting brown eyes, Miss.'  
'Well, yes, I did, but then, how could I know you are so into cows that you would know what colour their eyes are? You have to get pretty close to them to lose yourself in them, you know?'  
'Oh, not too close, I hope? I mean with all the dirt on them and aren't they dangerous?' Caroline cried out, looking even more indignant at the mere thought of her champion getting close to such an unsanitary thing as cattle.  
'Not if you know how to handle them. Though with that said, I have to admit that I have met my match in Humphrey. When he sees me, I fear, I have no choice other than to make a run for it.'  
Before Elizabeth could suppress her curiosity and give in to the temptation to ask who Humphrey was, it was relieved by Mrs Bingley: 'Who's Humphrey?'  
'My prized breeding bull,' Darcy replied with a smirk at Elizabeth, who almost choked on another sip of her wine.  
His _prized breeding bull_?! What the heck?  
'You look surprised,' he stated, still grinning and Elizabeth was suddenly very aware of how bloody handsome he was. Shit!  
'I am, I have to admit. I somehow assumed you live in London.'  
'No, Derbyshire. Born and bred. A country boy through and through.'  
'You should see his estate, Miss...- Bennet, is it?' Caroline Bingley remarked, fluttering her eyelashes at the man who presently ordered himself a glass of water.

Elizabeth only nodded.

'Such an impressive place! And the park... - several miles around, I tell you. You know, it has been in his family since basically forever. His aunt is a _Lady_ and his uncle was an actual _Earl_.'  
'Is,' she was promptly corrected.  
'What?'  
'He still _is_ an Earl. He has neither died nor given up his title.'  
'Oh?!'

Seemed as if Miss Bingley was not quite as well acquainted to Mr Darcy as she seemed to wish.  
'Well, our pedigree is much more humble, I am afraid,' Elizabeth sighed theatrically while thinking to herself 'What snobs!'.  
'I heard around here Longbourn House Farm is the biggest farm, isn't it?' Darcy inquired. 'How far from here is it?'  
'Yes, it is and it's about two miles, perhaps a bit more,' she answered not without pride only to be rudely interrupted by Caroline, while her mother had stayed silent, looking rather annoyed at present.  
'Oh, but it will hardly compare to _Pemberley_ , Fitzwilliam.'  
The increasingly exasperated mien of Mr Darcy was quite funny to observe. He either didn't like being called by his first name, which she thoroughly understood, or he was simply tired of their conversation. Though, no, when speaking about farming, his face had actually lit up with interest.  
With an almost indiscernible sigh, he answered: 'Of course not. Hertfordshire is much more densely populated than Derbyshire, so it is a matter of course, that the farms are not as expansive. On the other hand though, as far as I am aware, the land is much more arable.'  
Caroline and her mother looked confused, while Elizabeth actually began to warm up to the topic, if only to see them gape at each other helplessly like fish out of water.

Did Miss Bingley even realise that if she married Mr Darcy, farming would be part of her life, too? The image of that woman in her red nothing with wellies on her feet popped up in her mind and almost made her laugh out loud.  
'Yes, the soil around here is very good. The topsoil has just the right amount of sand in it, to keep the ground moist without it being too wet.'  
'I thought so by what I have seen since coming here. In Derbyshire the ground is very gravely and only very little moisture is retained, limiting the crops one can grow significantly. Wheat is alright, but sometimes it gets too cold for it, while rye is pretty much ideal. Barley also grows well, as do potatoes, but that is pretty much it.'

Had it been for Elizabeth, she could have carried on with this topic for a while, the alcohol had made a decidedly more pleasant person of this Mr Darcy, but Mrs Bingley soon came back to her initial prerogative, which was questioning her about Jane. Whoohoo! More Tequila needed asap. One sign towards Charlotte and she poured the life-saver. Bless her.

'You said your sister normally lives in London. Where? It's not exactly a small town, you know?'  
'She has rented a small bedsit from our aunt and uncle in Camberwell.'  
'So South London it is?' Miss Bingley said with some contempt.  
Well, obviously that part of town was too middle class for her.  
'Where do you _reside_?' Elizabeth could not help asking, putting the emphasis on the last word.  
'Kensington.'  
Of course. Nothing else would do than pretty much the most expensive part of town.  
'If you'll excuse me,' Darcy made the escape Elizabeth dearly wished for, though at least she had her drink. One had to be thankful for the little things in life at times.  
By the by, did she imagine it, or did he seem vexed? More vexed than before that is. And why the hell did she care? It was not as if his company was in any way pleasant. Oh, well, never mind!


	4. Chapter 4 - Oh, f!

_Chapter 4:  
Oh, f***!_

'And Mr Darcy, what do you think of the far-famed Meryton harvest ball?' Caroline asked him as soon as they were seated safely in a cab.  
Of course, she had to come with him instead of going with the rest of her own family. Politeness she had called it. Yeah, right!  
'It was... - interesting.'  
'You mean a complete disaster?'  
'Yes, an interesting one.'  
His mind trailed back to the ball. Though he had initially not wanted to go, he had actually found it quite amusing. The morris dance performance had been hilarious. It had been a long time since he had laughed that hard, though not openly, of course. After all, it had been blatantly obvious that the comic relief had been unintentional, and some of the dancers had needed minor medical attention afterwards. But a little Schadenfreude simply couldn't be avoided, could it?

Then again, his dancing wasn't any better, if not worse. Now that he thought about it, in retrospect he actually regretted that he had not been able to dance with Miss Bennet, but he had just never bothered to learn the steps. Well, perhaps he should ask his aunt to one day organise a dancing class. It would be the first remotely useful thing to ever be taught at her event seminar.  
'And, have any of the ladies caught your fancy?' Caroline interrupted his musings.  
Gods, why had he only drunken five Whiskeys? If he ever was in need of serious numbing, it was right now. The humming of a dentist's drill was decidedly less nerve-racking than her drawling, high pitched voice.  
'No,' Darcy answered firmly, though he was not quite sure whether that was actually the truth or not.  
When Elizabeth Bennet had asked him to dance and continued to prod him to do so, he had felt only annoyed, for then he had been dangerously close for everyone to discover his one weak spot. But later, when she had stood at the bar downing her Tequilas, a wry grin on her face that spoke of a great amount of good, and sarcastic humour, he had to admit that though her face was flushed in some embarrassment, her eyes had a mischievous sparkle about them that he had found extremely endearing.

She was clever, there was little doubt about that, for if he was not mistaken, she had looked right through Miss Bingley's and Mrs Hurst's affected friendliness when they had offered her a glass of wine, and he felt fairly proud that he had managed to nip the intended interrogation in its bud by speaking about farming and was once again surprised by Miss Bennet when he had found her to be quite competent herself.

And best of all, she had not had the least bit of affectation about her. Really, this girl was quite a puzzle.  
'You are very quiet, Mr Darcy.'  
He thought about gagging her in order to keep her quiet likewise, but that might give her the wrong idea. With Caroline one never knew what tickled her fancy and better be safe than sorry.  
'I'm tired.'  
Hopefully, she would take the hint. - No, apparently not.  
'Well, after all the Whiskey you had, I am not surprised,' she chattered on, grating on his nerves, or rather tearing them to pieces. 'But I admit, the evening was too tedious to survive without a good drink or two.'  
Letting out a slow breath, Darcy refrained from pointing out that the most tedious part for him had been _her_ clinging to his arm like dog poo to a brand-new pair of white trainers. Hard to ignore and most obtrusive in every way.

He glanced over at her only to catch a glimpse of - oh fuck! - she wasn't even wearing knickers! As if her attire left less than nothing to the imagination anyway. And before he knew it, Caroline smiled seductively, her lips coming ever so much closer and from the corner of his eyes, he could see how her right hand was about to reach between his... -

Oh, no! No, no, no, definitely not!  
In a rather panicky voice, he gave a strangled cry: 'Driver! Could you please stop for a moment?!'  
Without an answer the man did. Bless him!  
'I just need a bit of fresh air,' Darcy panted ripping open the door pretending to dry-heave, and truth be told, he very nearly did.  
Why, oh why was this woman unable to understand that he was so not into her? Yes, alright, she was pretty, in a very artificial way, but she was also shallow as a puddle, abrasive as sandpaper and about as bright as a 10 Volt light bulb. Okay, perhaps that was a bit exaggerated. Make that 30 Volts then. Still dim enough to be of little use outside a bedroom.  
'I think I'll walk the rest of the way. Here!' Darcy muttered towards the driver through his open window handing him a twenty Pound note. 'Keep the rest.'  
It was far too much for the short distance, and yet, it was definitely worth it if it meant peace and quiet and fresh air. Throwing the door close, before his companion realised what was going on, he stepped away from the cab and breathed a sigh of relief when it quickly drove off. Good man!  
Thank goodness she would return to London this very morning. Yeah, it was already past midnight!

He would not have survived another day with her around - and he had only arrived the day before yesterday in the early afternoon, just as his friend had started with the first interviews.

Even with walking, Darcy would have arrived at Netherfield Park within ten minutes, but not wanting to run into Caroline Bingley again, he had taken the longer way, meaning he had wandered around the overgrown grounds for about half an hour, stumbling through the thicket and dodging various rabbit holes.  
Sneaking in through the back door, he decided against using the servants' staircase for fear he took the wrong door. He as yet didn't know the place well enough to risk it. No, he certainly did not want to accidentally step into the dragon's lair.  
'Shit, man! I was worried where you were,' someone basically yelled at him.  
Bingley! Darcy sighed deeply yet again.  
But his friend wasn't finished yet: 'Where the _heck_ have you been? Caroline wailed something about you having gotten out of the car because you felt sick and the driver dashing off without waiting for you to get back in. She was close to hysterics.'  
'Bingley, please, I've had enough crap already tonight to last me until Christmas - next year that is.'  
'Oh come now, Darcy, the ball wasn't that bad. Stop being this fastidious. You know, sometimes you can be a right pompous arse.'  
'I didn't mean the ball, but your sister.'  
'What, did she want to take your virginity?'  
'Very funny... - Haha. But actually yes, she did try to get into my pants, well, breeches. Why do you think I got out of that cab?'  
His friend gaped at him open-mouthed, eyes bulging.  
'I swear, next time she pulls a stunt like that, I'll throttle her,' Darcy added tiredly, reaching for the decanter of brandy on the shabby looking sideboard.  
'Let me know when you need help to discard of the body,' Bingley offered dryly.  
'What, she annoyed you, too? Wow, she's been busy.'  
'On occasion, I think she should work as a professional pain in the neck. It's pretty much the only thing she's really good at. Seriously, I wonder why I invited her along.'  
'She really pissed you off, didn't she? What has she done now?'  
Bingley normally was never as sarcastic as he was now. That trait was normally reserved for him.  
'Yes, don't even ask. She's managed to even shock mum.'  
'Oh-uh!'  
They sat down on the dusty sofa in front of the empty grate and stared into the black cavern of the fireplace.  
'Yep, "oh-uh" sums it up pretty nicely. You'll find out soon enough what she's done, I don't want to rob you of the surprise I had when I found a certain contract on my desk with my signature on it just now. One of which I am one hundred per cent sure that I have never seen that thing before. I mean you did intend to stay for a week, didn't you?'  
'Yes, that was the plan as you very well know. Unless, perhaps, your sister has decided to stay as well.'  
'Nope, she is already on her way back to London.'  
'You threw her out?'  
'Yep. Which means that you will be right there when the shit will hit the fan.'

When in bed, later on, Darcy, though tired, had trouble falling asleep. Too many things went through his mind, some pleasant, others decidedly not. And aside from that, he had never slept very well in strange beds and this applied especially to beds smelling of mothballs. Bingley had changed the mattresses already upon on his very first day here, but the strong smell had seemingly permeated the woodwork of the bed just the same.

It was only at dawn that he fell into a restless slumber, and as his inner clock was set to get up at six in the morning, to say that he had rested well, would have been a stretch. Nonetheless, he got up, trudged down the corridor towards the bathroom and took a cold shower to wake up. Not that the warm water was as yet working anyway.  
So far so good. Now, where was the kitchen? He remembered darkly the way through which he had come in and faintly recalled that he had passed it then. Ah, yes, there it was. He put on the kettle and searched through the fridge, putting eggs, bacon, butter and bread on the table before trying to light the gas-stove. His attempt ended in a small explosion but then the thing worked perfectly fine.  
Just as Darcy had finished cooking his breakfast, Bingley appeared, looking sleepy and dishevelled.  
'What, up already?' his friend yawned.  
'As you can see? Any plans for today?'  
Did he imagine it, or did Bingley blush?  
'Well, I think I would like to go over to Longbourn House Farm...'  
'Ah, so that is where that pretty little blonde lives,' Darcy, knowing Charles Bingley far too well teased.  
'Yes, and also her sister Elizabeth,' Bingley replied with a grin and suddenly Darcy felt as if he was on the receiving end of a joke.  
How did Bingley know anyway?  
'I see I caught you off guard for once. Mum said she had never seen you speak so animatedly to a stranger as you did to her. So when is the wedding to take place?'  
'I thought we'd have a double wedding, so you decide,' Darcy answered off-handedly, hoping to gain the upper hand once more.  
'Sounds like a plan, my friend. I will hold you to it.'  
'I've been joking, Bingley! She's tolerable, I suppose, but not handsome enough to tempt me,' Darcy replied grimacing, while at the same time he dearly hoped no-one would see him cross his fingers behind his back.

He'd had a couple of girlfriends, but no relationship had lasted very long and for various reasons. Well, mainly because he actually preferred the country to city-life and naturally often hung around in his stables, meaning that at the end of the day he smelled like it. Not even the fact that he had always showered straight after coming into the house had changed their look of disgust and their wrinkled noses when he had told them about his day.

Did these women even realise that he fed them? Not literally, of course. But what would the world be without farmers? People would still roam around the land hunting mammoth, if they had not died out, of course. No cities would have been built, technology would not have advanced as it had in the last couple of decades, and worst of all for them in all likeliness, there would be no shopping centres and high streets.  
Caroline was a prime example of that kind of woman, for it was absolutely beyond him, why she would want to marry him of all people. Yeah, well, he was rich, close relations of his held various titles, but in the end, he was only a farmer. And a hotelier, and an investor and a curator... - Oh, and he was quite successful in both show jumping as well as military, though that fell more into the realms of a hobby and an expensive one at that.  
However, Elizabeth Bennet, he felt, was very different from all the women he had met so far, though he could not put a finger on it, what made her stand out, and whether it was in a positive or negative manner. So, perhaps he should try to get to know her better. He either would find her intolerable, or he could find the one woman he could share the remainder of his life with.  
All the while he was lost in his musings, Bingley's gaze had not left his face.  
'What?' he asked when at last he did realise that he was being scrutinized.  
'I have asked if you wanted to come with me, we can drive over there together. I believe it is on the other side of Meryton.'  
'I actually have a better idea. The two horses I have bought in Kent yesterday need a bit of exercise. What do you say we ride over there? Come, what woman doesn't dream of a knight in shining armour, hey?'  
'You are fully aware that I have never sat on a horse before? I will be more like a sack of barley strung up across a nag's back. Besides, my suit of armour is currently at the dry cleaners.'  
'Once is always the first time, my friend,' Darcy replied chuckling. 'And you will hardly find a better teacher than me and for free. Besides, may I remind you, that you have been nagging me about showing you how to ride for ages? Now is the time, my friend.'  
'If that is the price I need to pay to see you hitched up at last, so be it.'  
'Who spoke of _me_ getting hitched?'  
'You know, sometimes I wonder if the two of you will ever grow up...' Mrs Hurst, who seemed have stood in the doorway for a while, shook her head in amusement.  
'Mum, we're men, did you not always insist on us to never grow up?'  
'Yes, but you didn't need to make a point of it,' she sighed, though the corners of her mouth twitched suspiciously. 'Poor Jane! Oh, but of course she likes working with children.'  
Darcy lowered his head in order to hide his smile. Louisa Hurst was actually quite alright if perhaps a bit snobby, but he knew the moment Elizabeth had told them that her sister was a paediatric nurse, she, other than her daughter who had been little impressed, would be won over. Mrs Hurst's sole life revolved around organising help and charity. And she was pretty damn good at it.  
Charity balls, charity dinners, charity parties...

At least from his mother's side, Bingley would get no opposition. Good!  
And then the bomb dropped.  
'Charles, what do you intend to do about the _film team_?'  
'Oh please, mum, not at this early hour. I have just managed to ban that fact from my memory. But since you've asked, there is nothing I can do without needing to pay damages. I could, of course, go to court, but you know as well as I how long that'll take. And besides it's the weekend and they'll arrive on Monday already. I spoke to Matt, but he said the same. I would have to prove the signature isn't mine, but there is no question that it is, and knowing that Caroline must have smuggled that piece of paper between all the other stuff that needed signing, doesn't make me any less liable at any rate.'  
'So you will have them _romp_ all over the house while we have to stand by and watch?'  
'Yes. - NO!' Bingley almost stumbled over his words, much to Darcy's entertainment. 'I mean yes, I will have them _romp_ all over the house, but no, I doubt you'll be required to watch.'  
'Seriously, I think Matthew and I will be leaving tonight,' his mother replied with a sigh. 'I don't want to be anywhere near when... - You are right, let's not speak of it.'  
Shame, Darcy thought, just when it was beginning to get interesting. - Romp around the house? What a funny term to use. Did Caroline organise an orgy or... - Oh shit!

No, she couldn't possibly have...? Could she? Really? Oh, fuck!


	5. Chapter 5 - Pitchfork

_Chapter 5:  
Pitchfork_

The next morning, Elizabeth had dragged herself out of bed, feeling slightly hung over. But as much as she would have loved to sleep in till some time after lunch, the animals needed to be fed and the cows milked and the eggs collected like every single day of the week, year in, year out.

Admittedly, it would be much easier, if she could persuade Mary, Kitty or Lydia to help her once in a while, but truth be told, the effort she would have to put into _that_ , would by far surpass the actual work she had to do around the farm.

Okay, Mary did have a reasonable excuse, she actually _did_ study from dawn till dusk and beyond. Perhaps even a bit too excessively. When Elizabeth entered the kitchen, her middle sister was already sitting there bent over a book, making hasty notes while at the same time shovelling cornflakes into her mouth. Though she sported a black eye, from when one of her fellow dancers had accidentally hit her in the eye with her elbow, otherwise she looked completely unconcerned and it was clear that last night's incident had already been banished from her mind and successfully so. In Elizabeth's however, it was still featured vividly prominent.  
'Good morning, Mary!' Elizabeth chirped more cheerfully than she actually felt, only to receive an absent-minded huff.  
Shrugging her shoulders, she made herself a cup of strong tea and then, while the tea brewed, a cheese and pickle sandwich with fresh tomatoes.

She had just finished half of her breakfast, when Jane stepped into the kitchen, looking so fresh and lovely that had it been any other person, Elizabeth would have held her in contempt for it. Only Jane was allowed to look this gorgeous after a long night out.  
'I thought I'll give you a hand, Lizzy,' she announced, helping herself to an apple and a yoghurt from the fridge.  
'Seriously, do you have to talk so much?' Mary reprimanded them testily, at last looking up from her work with an annoyed expression. 'I have to catch up on my schedule. Practise and last night have kind of overthrown it all, and I still need to go over my literature notes.'  
Jane smiled gently before stating: 'Mary, don't you think you are overdoing things a little? I mean, when was the last time you went out? Or even just _outside_?'  
'I go outside every day,' Mary pouted.  
'I think Jane meant aside from your way to school and back, Mary,' Elizabeth seconded her older sister.  
'Well... - but I do go out twice every week at least.'  
Yes, to meet with a bunch of old folk to either sing or dance. Both Elizabeth and Jane shared a glance, clearly thinking the same, but neither of them said anything. It would be in vain anyway.  
Munching away in silence, five minutes later Jane and Elizabeth were on their way over to the stables.  
'You know, I have to say last night was surprisingly pleasant, wasn't it?' Jane swooned as soon as they had stepped out into the bright September morning.  
'Well, it certainly was for you. I take it, Mr Bingley is a very pleasant chap? And he seemed to like you, which definitely speaks for his sense.'  
Jane blushed most becomingly then, with an elegant wave of her hand and a sad smile remarked: 'He is. Pleasant, I mean. But I'll doubt I made much of an impact. He must be used to an excess of pretty women surrounding him with his amiability and good looks. By now, he has most likely forgotten all about me.'  
Elizabeth looked at her incredulously. What she had seen last night, after Charlotte had pointed it out to her, was much more. Unless, of course, Mr Bingley was a complete scoundrel, so used to charming women that it had become second nature to him.

Thinking about it, her sister might have a point. In his line of work, he needed to be courteous and amiable in order to be successful, while at the same time, there was little doubt, he must be a good businessman. Okay, his buying run-down Netherfield perhaps spoke against that, but a young man is allowed to be impulsive on occasion and if he could afford it, Netherfield might even turn into a gem one day in the distant future. And after all, for him, it might have been a bargain, depending on how rich he really was. Rumours were never too reliable to trust them completely, but that he had some money was apparent nonetheless.  
'You know, he said he would like to make Netherfield Park the headquarters for his company,' Jane carried on, trudging along the muddy path in her purple wellies with the cheerful pink polka dots, still managing to look like the most graceful figure possible.  
'Really?'  
'Yes. He said London is all nice and well, but he simply needs more space for all the administrations required. He intends to turn the old stables into an administrative building. Can you imagine, more than five hundred people work for him, and with adding Netherfield he hopes to add another fifty to a hundred.'  
Elizabeth blew out her breath. That it would be so many she had not expected.  
'What impressed me the most was, that he also employs a couple of people with special needs.'  
Of course, that would impress Jane. More than anything, actually.  
They had reached the stables by now and pushing open the large green sliding door entered to perform their first duty of their, well, her daily routine. – Opening the chicken coop and then milking the cows.

Thank goodness someone had already invented mechanical milkers or it would take them forever. It still took them nearly an hour before they could usher the herd down the lane and onto one of the meadows.

Did she dream it, or were there really two men approaching them on horseback? Nope, no dream.  
Mr Bingley looked a little unstable on his rather docile mount, but his austere looking companion actually cut a rather graceful figure atop his decidedly nervous beast. No guesswork needed there, who of the two had more experience.  
Upon seeing Jane, Bingley's face brightened, though it was obvious that he did not dare take a hand off the reins, other than his friend, who raised his in what she supposed was a greeting. So much for Jane being forgotten already, Elizabeth thought, casting a sly glance in her sister's direction.

He might not be a knight in shining armour, but he was close enough.

Involuntarily her eyes fell on Mr Darcy and she was painfully aware that he was assessing their farm most thoroughly. Why, oh why did she hope he was pleased? It was not as if his opinion mattered. But whatever he thought of Longbourn House Farm, his expression stayed unreadable.  
'So this is where you hide away,' Bingley spoke cheerfully only to be startled by his horse shaking its head to shoo away some flies.  
He attempted to get off the horse but obviously knew not how.  
'Ehh, Darcy?'  
Darcy's lips twitched, and though he had obviously not intended to get off his horse himself, he got out of the stirrups, swung one leg over the back of his animal and landed safely on the ground.

'That is how it is done. Just take your feet out and there you go.  
'Ah, alright.'

Bingley tried to imitate him and almost managed, however, he landed on his buttocks in a most charming manner instead of on his feet.  
'Oh dear! Have you injured yourself?' Jane gasped, rushing forward to help the young man get back up.  
'Only his pride, Miss Bennet,' Fitzwilliam Darcy answered dryly, his eyes firmly locked with Elizabeth's, while at the same time it clearly cost him some effort to keep his horse at bay.  
Was it even properly broken in yet? It did not look like it.  
'I'm okay, Jane. And I actually think I did quite well, considering that this was my first time on a horse,' Bingley said not the least embarrassed by his mishap. 'Darcy here bought himself that beauty there and thought, since the one I was riding just now was to be put down, he'd take it, too.'  
'Oh, that was very sweet of him,' Jane cooed.  
'And that was why you had to ride it now?' Elizabeth asked, slightly bewildered.  
'Yes. They needed exercise after their long journey here and in a week's time it's up north for them and they'll be locked up in a horsebox once again for hours on end,' their proud owner replied as if that explained all.  
'Yep, and since they needed exercise and I had always wanted to sit on a horse, I kindly offered my services. Okay, he forced me to, kind of. Thank goodness, this one is so tame that even a baby could ride it. Plus, it just trots on as long as Hermes here is going, so... - And anyway, what better exercise than to ride over to visit good friends?'  
Wow! High time to plan the wedding, ey?  
'How did you know you'd find us here?' Jane inquired bashfully, the slight tint of a blush making her prettier by the minute.  
'Mr Collins, I believe was his name, mentioned that you lived here,' Bingley explained, 'amongst other things.'  
'Such as?' Elizabeth could not help asking.  
'Well... - I have to confess, that I didn't really pay much attention.'  
This produced an unladylike snort from Elizabeth and even a soft chuckle from Jane. No-one ever paid much attention to what Penny uttered, for though speaking ceaselessly when he had the chance, he hardly ever _said_ anything while doing so and even less of any interest for anybody but himself.  
'Oh,' Bingley added with a smile, 'did I actually tell you that he is acquainted with your aunt, Darcy?'  
'That does not really speak for him having any sense,' was his friend's puzzling reply. 'Only that he apparently has too much time on his hands.'  
Oddly enough though, Mr Darcy had hit the nail on its head.  
'This is a well-kept farm,' he continued, soothingly patting his horse's head.  
'Oh, that is all thanks to my sister,' Jane replied, looking proudly at Elizabeth. 'In the spring our father had an accident and Lizzy took over until he is recovered.'  
The last word hung heavily in the air, for as yet it was not certain Thomas Bennet would ever recover, and if, it was still doubtful whether he would be able to resume his profession.  
'I am sorry to hear it,' Darcy said softly, while Bingley patted Jane's arm in a sympathetic gesture.  
'Yeah, well, I must be going, the pigs are still waiting for their breakfast and then there are Nellie and Dorothy...' Elizabeth trailed off.  
Looking at the stately horse, or horses even, for though Mr Bingley's mare had certainly seen better days and was past the age of twenty, if not close to thirty, both must have cost a fortune. What were their two old shaggy Shire Horses in comparison?

Why her father had bought them, Elizabeth was not entirely sure of, for aside from Jane no-one ever dared ride them despite their calm temper and patience. Perhaps their height was just too daunting. Elizabeth definitely thought so. She was no horsewoman.  
'Would you like something to drink?' Jane presently asked and her invitation was gratefully accepted by Bingley, while Darcy declined politely.  
Great! Elizabeth had dearly hoped to be able to finish her chores without being further scrutinized by Mr Darcy, but it seemed that had been wishful thinking.

Bingley and Jane disappeared into the milk chamber, where her father, and now her, kept a stash of water and apple juice. - Well, and there was always the milk, of course. By now it should be sufficiently cooled down by their refrigeration system, for if there was anything Elizabeth really despised, it was milk still cow-warm. Brrrrr!  
Darcy, now left with two horses to tend to, stood slightly forlorn on the path. Yeah, alright, she got it.  
'You can tether your horses over there, Mr Darcy,' she pointed at the solid fence of their own horses' paddock.  
'Thank you, that would be great.'  
Why, oh why did he have to always sound so very haughty even when he _was_ being polite?  
'Is there anything I can help you with?' Darcy inquired when he had tied up his beasts and Elizabeth could not help noticing that other than his friend from London, he did not give five straws about all the mud and manure that lay in his path.  
Okay, there she had misjudged him, he obviously really was a country boy.  
'Knowing Bingley, it'll be a while until your sister will return to give you a hand,' he added when she didn't immediately reply, nodding his head in the direction where they had disappeared. 'So, if you want me to help a little, I'm at your service.'  
With almost malicious glee Elizabeth, at last, answered that the pigsty needed cleaning. But had she thought his face would fall at that, she was sorely mistaken, for all he asked was: 'Pitchfork or Mini-Tractor?'  
'Whatever you prefer, Mr Darcy. We've got both at hand.'  
'Pitchfork actually, unless you happen to have a couple of hundred piggies. But since you said that you mainly produce milk...'  
This now really stunned her and she could not help remarking: 'You are the only person I've ever met who preferred a pitchfork for mucking out the stables.'  
'Well, why invest in a gym membership when one can get one's workout for free?' he asked wryly, his eyes twinkling in a manner that made Elizabeth almost weak in the knees.  
'Does it work?'  
'At least I hope so. I can hardly be an impartial judge of my own physique. What is your assessment?'  
Arrogant ass! He must know that he looked drop dead gorgeous in his polo shirt and riding breeches. Boy, did he have a firm backside! The pictures popping up in Elizabeth's mind of Mr Darcy in the nude were both far from welcome and highly titillating.  
'So, how many pigs do you have?'  
'You are in luck, we haven't even got twenty and that is counting the piglets,' she replied, leaving his other question unanswered.  
'Perfect!'  
'You know you don't have to do that?'  
'Yes, I do know that, but perhaps it keeps unpleasant ladies off my arm tonight. Truth be told, I am very glad I got it back at all last night.'  
'You are not very subtle in stating your opinions, are you?'  
'Why?' he asked, and actually looked fairly puzzled as to her meaning.  
'Never mind.'

Mr Darcy's prediction had been an accurate one, for they had not only mucked out the stables, taken care of Nellie and Dorothy, but also repaired a hole in the fence, collected the eggs and filled in the necessary HACCP paperwork for the milk, which had cooled down just to the temperature it was supposed to, when at long last Jane and Bingley rounded the corner of the barn almost three hours later, so lost in their conversation, that Darcy needed to address his friend several times until he finally reacted.  
Yep, definitely, time to start shopping for a bridesmaid's dress. - And thinking about it, perhaps some baby clothes, one never knew and after all, haylofts are notorious, aren't they?  
'Oh, Darcy, I completely forgot about you,' Bingley remarked, looking somewhat sheepish and as adorable as a dachshund-puppy.  
His friend didn't reply but only shook his head in mock exasperation, while handing a pair of pliers over to Elizabeth, which had still been in his pocket from earlier on.  
'Do you know that you've got mud all over yourself, Darcy?'  
'It's pig shit, Bingley. I hope you've got a washing machine somewhere in the house.'  
'Oh? - Oh yes, there is one, but I am not sure it works. By the looks of it, it's at least twenty years old.'  
'I could lend you our old washboard,' Elizabeth could not help throwing in, earning her a rather comical death glare from Darcy and a blank expression from his friend.  
'Nonsense. If you need to wash something, you are welcome to use our washing machine for the time being,' Jane offered cordially. 'Just bring your stuff over here and I'll take care of it.'  
Bingley once again beamed at her in obvious admiration.  
'That is very nice of you. I think we'll take up on that offer. What do you say, Darcy?'  
'Do we have a choice in case your washing machine really doesn't work? Not that I would be at all surprised if it is broken, for pretty much everything else is in that new place of yours.'  
'Well, come the week after next and the overhaul will start, and you'll see that by the end of November it'll be as good as new.'  
'Why not next week?' Elizabeth could not help asking. 'It sounds as if you've got a tight schedule.'  
Did she imagine it, or did Mr Bingley blush? Mr Darcy, at any rate, frowned as usual. Shame, working with him had been surprisingly pleasant. She had almost forgotten how aloof he could be.  
'Well... - I've had some problems with my sis... - contractor, it seems,' Bingley stuttered, his face now decidedly as red as a beetroot.  
At that, Darcy only snorted and then turned towards his horses. Was he laughing? It seemed so, for his shoulders were shaking. Damn, could he never just laugh like any other person? Even now?

That he had suppressed his laughter at the ball had been one thing, actually, it had even been the polite thing to do, but right now? And what was so funny anyway? Surely not that Mr Bingley's schedule had been screwed up somehow.


	6. Chapter 6 - A boring looking zebra

_Chapter 6:  
A boring looking zebra_

Sunday went without any disturbance. At least so far.

Bingley had driven over to Longbourn House to wash their laundry, for as a matter of course, the washing machine was broken, and as it was, he stayed there all afternoon. Also of course.

In all honesty, Darcy would have been very surprised if Charles had returned straight away. Hm, this started to be quite serious. Why was it, that Bingley just needed to smile and all the women were after him, while he never had much success, at least not with the amiable ones? The likes of Caroline Bingley he could hardly shake off, but they did not want him, they wanted his money. Once they realised that his lifestyle was by no means glamorous, and really rather mucky, they were gone.

His mind strayed towards Elizabeth Bennet and her sparkly bright eyes. He had actually had fun with her yesterday, even though it had only been farm work. Nothing special at all. But she was witty and it had been surprisingly easy to banter with her. At least to the very point where he suddenly realised that her lips were also lovely and her figure so very fine and he had to concentrate on something else - anything else, to not make a complete fool of himself. But there was no denying it, she made his heart beat just this little bit faster. Well amongst of other more obvious things.  
Damn it! There he was shaking his head over his friend's infatuation when he was not a bit better. Worse even, for at least Bingley knew what to do, while he had not the slightest idea how he could win over a woman like Lizzy Bennet. How did one approach a woman anyway? Until now it had always been the other way around and each and every time it had been a disaster in the making. And "Farmer wants a wife" was most certainly not an option either!  
With a sigh, Darcy decided to explore the house instead of pondering. This was safe ground at last.

Old houses were a hobby of his, and though Netherfield House was in a fairly bad condition, upon inspection, it was not as unrealistic as he had first thought, that Bingley would manage to get it back in shape within little more than two months. There were regulations for a Grade II* listed building, of course, but Bingley knew what he was doing and dealing with, as did his contractor. By the end of the coming week the old, original furniture would be picked up and be brought to a specialised workshop in Barnett, to be restored, and thus giving room for the builders. Piece of cake from there on. Hopefully. Sometimes there were hidden surprises, but as yet, it looked promising enough.

Running his fingers over the dusty surface of a sideboard he could hardly help to notice that once it was restored, it would look very lovely with its inlays and carvings. And while he was at it anyway, he started to make an inventory. After all, that was the main reason he was here. With antiques, one had to be careful, for they were not only beautiful but also expensive and had a tendency to disappear without a trace if one was not careful. Alternatively, one might get back a cheap replica for a bloody expensive item.

An hour later he had worked his way through to the library.  
Books were another passion of his, but really, the library at Netherfield was pathetic. Oh, there were a few old books, but the majority of shelves were empty and those books that had been left there were so battered that in opening them they were bound to either break or crumble to dust. What a shame!  
However, the most interesting things he found, were a couple of old ledgers, neatly tucked away in an old desk, and with some curiosity, he sat down to go through them.

Hm, how easy it once had been to run an estate and do the paperwork. In all seriousness, nowadays one _had_ to study business to get through all of this shite. All the tax forms, business accounts, payrolls, HACCP tables and so forth. And that was _with_ the help of computers!  
One should really think that with having computers, that the actual amount of paper should have declined over the years, and yet, the contrary seemed to be the case. By contrast, everything was here, right there in this one ledger, and today? He would have at least five different folders, for each month that is, and still struggle to get a decent overview. Silly, really, if one thought about it.  
As if on queue his mobile hummed to inform him that he had received an e-mail. His weekly business reports. Yeah, figures that just when he felt that modern business was so much more complicated than it once had been, that he had to be reminded of it in such a way.  
Deciding not to read the reports, Darcy, feeling quite dusty himself after inspecting so many old pieces of furniture, instead went over to the stables to look after his horses, and then perhaps ride a little.

As interesting as old houses were, they were tiring after a couple of hours and on a Sunday he tended to be a lazy sod anyway. No, better get going!

Getting close to his gelding on the large overgrown paddock was not as easy as he had anticipated and convincing him to come with him, was even more of a challenge, but he did manage and an hour later his horse was curried and brushed and ready for a ride.  
'Excuse me, can you tell me how to get to the M25? I got lost,' a young lady in a sporty convertible asked him, about thirty minutes into his ride, looking fairly dim-witted, considering that right in front of her there was a sign pointing out the direction.  
As if to emphasize that she was in a hurry she let the engine howl, not exactly helping with keeping his nervous horse at bay.  
'That way,' Darcy replied shortly, pointing in the respective direction.  
'Are you sure? I was just looking where I need to go tomorrow because we're making a film around here, you know? But can you believe it, I have been driving around for _hours_ , and could not find the location!'  
Film location? Oh-uh...

Darcy took a closer look at her and his suspicions grew. Bleached blond hair, fake tan, fake boobs and a shaved p... - Bloody hell, did women not wear knickers anymore? What was it with lasses these days that they wore mini skirts that could pass for a slightly wider belt and not wear anything underneath to top it all? It was not that he was a prude, but did they really think that _this_ was attractive? It made them look like sluts and nothing more. Now, a bit of lace here and sateen there, leaving a bit of room for the imagination, that was something completely different!

Should he ever catch his sister dressing up like this, she would be grounded until her own bloody funeral and beyond. Though thinking about it, grounding would presumably be unnecessary, considering that he would throttle her right away.  
'See that blue thing over there? It's called a sign and can you see what's written on there? M25 and an arrow pointing to the left. So yes, lady, I _am_ sure!'  
'Oh, really? I forgot to put in my contacts. It's all a blur I fear,' the woman tittered.  
'And you really think it to be a good idea to drive around when you are about as blind as a bat?' Darcy inquired incredulously, wondering how one actually managed to forget to put in one's contacts or put on one's glasses when unable to see clearly past the five-meter mark.  
If she had a death wish, that was fine with him, but traffic, unfortunately, was a bit more complex than that. There were other people as well, though she likely couldn't see that, short-sighted as she was.  
'Oh, I manage,' she cooed. 'Is that a horse you are sitting on?'  
'No, it's a boring looking zebra. The stripes are in the laundry at present.'  
'Really?'  
'You are a natural blonde, aren't you?'  
'Yes, but it's such an ugly ash-blond...'  
'Never mind. Just one more question. If you forgot to put in your contacts, why don't you just put on those glasses I see on the dashboard, especially when you are looking for something?'  
'Oh, they make me look so... - dumb! And how can one miss a large house?'  
'You could hardly look any dumber than you do right now, Miss.'  
'What do you mean?'  
'Never mind.'  
'Well, perhaps we'll see each other, sometime. I'll be here for the whole of next week. You seem awfully stiff, you know. But perhaps you'd like to come by after one of our shoots and I could tend to it,' she winked insinuatingly.  
'I'm tense, not stiff. And _no_ , thank you!'  
With that he turned his horse around only to realise that not far from him, Elizabeth Bennet had gotten off her bicycle and was staring in his direction, shaking with suppressed laughter, tears streaming down her face.  
'A boring looking zebra?' she blurted out as soon as he had come nearer.  
'Yeah, well, I hope Bingley manages to iron its stripes so I can put them back on,' he countered, before asking: 'You haven't got a mobile on you, by any chance?'  
'I have, why?'  
'Because I need to call the police before that nitwit runs over a child. I think the only reason she saw me and stopped to ask for the way was that the horse was big enough for her to take notice.'  
'That is actually very likely. She came over to Longbourn and was insisting that it was Netherfield, for it was the only large house she had seen so far. I told her that Netherfield is surrounded by a large park and cannot be seen from the street, but she didn't want to believe me. Do you know what she was on about? She didn't strike me like a person working in gastronomy.'  
'I have an inkling, what her profession might be, but at present, I'd rather keep it to myself.'  
'Mr Bingley is not opening a conference centre with some special entertainment for lonely managers, is he?' she asked, while she was rummaging through the messenger bag strapped to her bike.  
'Good God, no!'  
At first, he was shocked she would even assume such a thing, but one glance at her gleeful face told him that she was merely teasing.

Damn! How could a woman look so pretty without the slightest tint of make-up and her hair all wild?  
He took the phone from her and dialled 999, gave the registration number of the car in question and his reasons for calling and then handed it back to Elizabeth.  
'Thank you.'  
'You know, I think that was pretty decent of you, that you did not just let her get away with it,' she mused, as she tucked away her phone again.  
'Funnily enough, most people would have considered me a spoil-sport for it,' Darcy shrugged.  
'I would never consider a person doing the right thing as being a spoil-sport, though my youngest sisters would certainly agree with that statement.'  
'They are a bit forward, aren't they?'  
'Cross out the 'bit' and add 'precocious'.'  
'Do they never help around the farm? It seems as if you and your sister Jane are doing all the work.'  
'I'd doubt they would know how to hold a shovel the right way up. But they do help around the house once in a while.'  
'Like?'  
'Decorating it for Christmas or their birthday parties and sometimes they cook. Or at least they try.'  
'Well, siblings can be challenging at times.'  
'Oh yes! Do you have any? Siblings, I mean?'  
'I have a sister. Georgiana is sixteen and sometimes I wish she were a bit more like your sisters. She's rather shy and can be a bit too severe on occasion, you know?'  
'Family trait?'  
He laughed. How could he not, when she was so charming even when poking fun at him?  
'Presumably,' he admitted. 'It has been rough since our parents died.'  
'Oh! I didn't know. I am sorry...'  
'It's been a while now. We still miss them, but the pain is gone,' he answered, knowing full well that it was a lie.  
With his mother, it had been coming on gradually as she faded away from cancer, but his father's heart attack had come as a shock. - Five years...

No, it decidedly still hurt. Especially when he needed advice, someone to turn to, only to find that there was no-one there.  
When his eyes met hers, he could see that she had seen right through him and her compassion made him swallow hard.  
'I think I better get going. Hermes here is getting impatient.'  
'That's his name? Your family seems to have a knack for unusual names, too.'  
'Why?'  
She looked at him with raised eyebrows. What was she on about?  
Eventually, she replied: 'Oh, never mind.'  
Hm, perhaps he should count the times he or somebody else said those two words. He was pretty sure that before he had come to Hertfordshire he had not quite heard them so often.  
But...- well, never mind!


	7. Chapter 7 - Penny dropping

_Chapter 7:_

 _Penny dropping_

'Hey Lottie, sorry I'm late,' Elizabeth panted as she got off her bike and locked it. 'But I somehow got held up by a man on a boring looking zebra.'  
Charlotte, holding open the door to the small café gaped at her then laughed: 'Boring looking zebra? Please, explain.'  
'Ah, well, as far as I understood it, its stripes were in the wash.'  
'Lizzy!'  
'Alright, alright. I met Mr Darcy while he was trying to explain to a dumbass how to get to the motorway. It was hilarious!' Lizzy answered as she plunked down on the chair at their usual table.  
Drinking coffee with Charlotte on a Sunday was an established tradition unless Charlotte was working, or she herself was away at uni.  
'And how does the zebra come into play?' her friend inquired curiously.  
'As said, he was sitting on it. The woman he tried to help, asked him if that was a horse he was riding and he in all seriousness answered: "No, it's a boring looking zebra..."'  
'You're kidding, right?' her friend giggled.  
'Nope.'  
'I think that is the most hilarious answer to such a dumb question I have ever heard,' Charlotte laughed now.

Well, it was hilarious.  
'Definitely! And from Mr Darcy, no less. I thought I'd keel over laughing. By the by, have you heard from Netherfield? About the job, I mean.'  
Charlotte pulled out a letter from her pocket.  
'I have. The letter came yesterday. I was actually quite surprised it came that quickly.'  
'And?'  
'I've got the job!'  
Cheering Elizabeth hugged her friend.  
'Oh, that is wonderful news. I told you they would be stupid if they didn't take you.'  
'Yeah, well, I am a bit nervous though,' Charlotte sighed, looking not as happy as she would have expected her to look.  
'Why?' Elizabeth asked puzzled, picking up the menu that lay open on the table and put it back on its stand. It was not as if she needed it.  
'I am to start in two weeks already, help organise the place, interview people and all that stuff. Really, I have never done such a thing in my life. Okay, I have interviewed people before, but help planning the venue is an altogether different thing. What if I screw up big time?'  
The waitress appeared, at last, looking as enthusiastic as Kitty and Lydia on a Monday morning.  
'The usual?' she asked flatly.  
'Yep, two latte and two chocolate muffins,' Elizabeth answered with equal lacking friendliness before turning back to her friend: 'Charlotte, why would you? You are the most organised person I know and you've got good judgement when it comes to people, though perhaps your best friend is a bit weird...'  
'Lizzy, please, be serious!'  
'Actually, I am serious, Charlotte. You are the most organised person I know, and when has your judgement in people ever failed you? It's what's making you so good at your job. Come now, if it had been you serving customers who come in almost every single week of the year ordering the same thing each and every time, you wouldn't have asked, but brought the stuff straight away.'  
'Of course I would have, duh? And though I'm afraid, despite what you might think, my judgement has momentary lapses from time to time, but I can deal with that. No probs. But the _planning_?'  
'How many parties have you planned and organised? How many times have you spoken to customers? Advised them as to what might best suit their wishes and purses?'  
'I've lost count.'  
'See! In your last job, you've been almost indispensable and come now, had it not been for Mr Ramsey's getting too old and selling the business, you would still be.'  
'Yeah, well... - But then again, if I were so good, why did it take so long for me to get another full-time job?' Charlotte mumbled.  
The waitress finally approached with their orders and quickly disappeared again without saying a word or even smiling. Charlotte frowned after her disapprovingly.  
'I dare say it is because people think they could not possibly afford you,' Elizabeth carried on. 'But at any rate, Mr Bingley obviously can _and_ thinks you are the right person to run his restaurant, and I quite agree with him.'  
'Thank you!'  
Charlotte still looked doubtful, and it seemed high time to change the subject.  
'You're welcome. - So, what do you say to our beloved Harvest Ball?'  
As expected her friend grinned broadly as she answered: 'It lived up to its reputation of being the most embarrassing event of the year. I mean, it was bad enough when you left, but believe it or not, it got worse. You know Peter Brannigan?'  
'The butcher?'  
'Yep, he screwed Mrs Baker in the backyard, right next to the bins like there was no tomorrow.'  
'Perhaps they needed to be quick because her husband is jealous much. For whatever reason. Not that his wife would give him cause, does she? - By the way, is he a candlestick-maker?'  
'Who?'  
'Mr Baker.'  
'He's an electrician at the base.'  
'I let that count, it's basically the modern version of it, isn't it. So we've got butcher, baker and candlestick-maker...'  
Charlotte snorted and almost spilt her coffee all over herself.  
'Well, I dare say the dance performance has gotten slightly better than last year,' Elizabeth carried on.  
'Better?' Charlotte gaped at her. 'Lizzy, it was a disaster.'  
'Yeah, but last year the multiple collisions happened with the first dance already, this time they managed to hold out until the second.'  
'One just has to love your optimism.'  
'Optimism has sod all to do with it. I tell you, it was the Tequilas you gave me. They blurred my mind enough to forget that it was my own sister who was at the very root of things.'  
'I have to say, I was actually surprised that you went home so early.'  
'I was, too. But Mary needed an ice pack and the rest of us jumped at the chance of going home, too. So, what else have I missed?'  
'Only Penny stripping to the ballroom version of "you can leave your hat on".'  
'I did not even know there was such a thing as a ballroom version of that song. That's perverse! Messing around with that song, I mean. But let me guess, Penny has made a course at, shoot, what's the name of this stupid event-thingy?'  
'Rosings.'  
'Yep, Rosings.'  
'I doubt it. I heard Lady Catherine has very high moral standards. At least that is what Penny said, so take that with a grain of salt.'  
'And I think Penny once said that he was very sorry to have missed her course in nude painting.'  
'One is art, Lizzy, the other is, well, taking off clothes in front of others for everybody to see.'  
'To me, it sounds much the same if I am being honest. I mean, it's not as if people aren't looking at the pictures later, too. And they are there to stay, not just a temporary thing.'  
'Yeah, if you put it like that. But please, let's change the subject or I'll have another sleepless night from this. And one was already enough, I tell you. You looked lovely as did Jane, but heck, did you see Mrs Harris and Mrs King?'  
'Not close up. I was mainly preoccupied with Kitty and Lydia and trying to dance with Mr Darcy.'  
'Have you ever considered that perhaps he can't dance?'  
'Then he could have said so. Not that he doesn't.'  
'Perhaps he was embarrassed?'  
'Yeah, right! So, what's with Mrs Harris and Mrs King?'  
'Well, Mrs Harris had taped a curtain together as a dress using double sided tape and it came apart right when she tried to help herself to some food at the buffet. You should have seen her face when she realised that it slowly but surely slipped down her body to reveal her underwear while she was balancing two plates.'  
'Oops, I would say.'  
'Yeah, and Mrs King's Regency gown had a leopard print.'  
All Elizabeth could do was bury her face in her hands and laugh until she was literally crying. Seriously, the best part of the Harvest Ball was talking about it afterwards.  
'I have to say, Mr Bingley was quite smitten with Jane, wasn't he?' Charlotte inquired when their giggles had subsided.  
'It definitely seems so,' Elizabeth agreed. 'Actually, he's currently at Longbourn House doing his laundry. Well, he was there yesterday as well, talking to Jane for hours while Mr Darcy and I were mucking out the stables.'  
'Excuse me, what did you just say?' Charlotte startled.  
'I said that Mr Bingley and Jane chatted for several hours on end.'  
'That was not what I meant, I mean the other part, the one with Mr Darcy and you mucking out the stables.'  
'Well, yes, he came by with Mr Bingley and since he had to wait, for I think he did not trust Mr Bingley to ride back over to Netherfield all on his own, he offered to help me.'  
'And so he mucked out the stables? Just like that?'  
'Yes. The pigsty. And after that he helped me repair the fence, tend to Nellie and Dorothy and...'  
'Wow, wait a second! - And did you really say they _rode_ over to Longbourn? Like on horses?'  
'Well, boring zebras more like,' Elizabeth replied dryly.  
'You do know that he's extremely rich, has a great business of his own, has inherited an estate worth several million Pounds and that his uncle is a peer of the realm? - I admit, I googled him.'  
'Miss Bingley mentioned something along those lines, but I have to admit that I did not pay much attention. To call that woman abrasive would be like calling stone slightly hard. As for Mr Darcy, I have not yet made up my mind. He can be nice at times and he can be a decided arse.'  
'And he certainly has a nice arse.'  
'You should have seen him in his riding breeches.'  
'I've seen him in a business suit and that was already a mouth-watering sight.'

'Ah, there you are, Lizzy,' he mother, car keys in hand, greeted her when she returned from her meeting with Charlotte, coming right from the stables, tired and hungry. 'And what did Charlotte say?'  
'Oh, we spoke about this and that, you know. As always,' Elizabeth tried to avoid further questions, not that it was not blatantly obvious anyway that her mother was about to leave the house.  
'I thought you might have spoken about the Harvest Ball. It was a success, as always, wasn't it?'  
'Yeah...'  
'Personally I think it is getting better with each year. - Anyway, I'm on my way over to Rosy, I'll probably be home late. So if you could see that Kitty and Lydia are in bed by ten.'  
Big chance for that! That was usually the time of day on a Sunday when they woke up at last.  
Ignoring her second oldest daughter's frown, Mrs Bennet carried on happily: 'But we do need to start organizing the Christmas Bazaar, and we haven't even decided on a charity yet, to which to donate the money.'  
Biting her tongue to swallow a snide remark about yet another event that ranked quite high on the embarrassment-scale, Elizabeth instead asked: 'Where is Jane?'  
'Oh, Jane has gone out for dinner with Mr Bingley. As a thank you, you know,' Mrs Bennet beamed. 'I don't know where they have gone, but I think it might be something fancy, considering how much money he's got.'  
'And how many fancy restaurants do you know here about? I mean, The Fat Duck is not exactly around the corner.'  
'Oh, don't be silly, Lizzy. But perhaps that nice little Italian restaurant over at the market square.'  
'Prezzo's?'  
'Yes, I think that is what it's called. It looks very nice on the outside, don't you think?'  
'It has to, it's a graded building and they have to abide by the regulations. Same as Mr Bingley with Netherfield.'  
'Oh, did he say so?'  
'There is no need for him to do so, it's the law, Mama.'  
To explain to her mother how some things worked was pretty much a futile effort, but one should have thought that considering that she herself lived in a Grade II building this should have given her at least some idea. But nope. At least she was a very good cook...  
'What's for dinner?'  
'I haven't prepared anything, so you might want to have a look in the freezer and see what's ready made in there. I think we should still have some frozen meals of curry and rice. You know, I can't always do everything for you kids. At some point, you need to grow up and do things for yourself.'

Yeah, right.  
'Cheers, mum!'  
'Oh, no problem. Ta-ta!'  
Seething and with a grumbling stomach Elizabeth made her way to the kitchen and rummaged around the freezer to find...- sod all! Okay, there was a bag of broccoli and some chips as well as a frozen apple pie. Not much to go on, was it?  
Picking up the menu from the takeaway hanging on the side of their fridge, Elizabeth dialled the number.  
'Hello? Yeah, I would like to order some food, please. - Two chicken Korma, with rice and a naan bread each as well as a lamb Jalfrezi, extra hot and a chicken Madras, both with just naan bread, but two each and some Samosas on the side. Yes, to deliver, please. No, I don't mind paying extra for that. - Over to Longbourn House. - Excuse me? What do you mean? - You can't be serious!'  
Great, just what she needed, the takeaway did not deliver as far as Longbourn. Far my arse! It was barely two miles from Meryton. Was it really too much to ask for a frickin' delivery service?  
And just as it always was, the doorbell rang, when the last thing one wanted, was someone to come by. And not only that, it was a very determined visitor by the sound of it. Gods, hopefully nothing had happened...  
'Mr Darcy?' Elizabeth gaped at him while he smiled apologetically, hand still on the doorbell.  
'Sorry for barging in, I know it's getting late, but is Charles still here?'  
'No, he's gone out for dinner with Jane as far as I know. Why?'  
'Because he's taken all the towels with him... - and the dishcloths.'  
'Let me guess, you found out the hard way, after taking a shower?'  
'No, only after I stripped, fortunately. So I got dressed again and came here. So excuse me smelling of horse.'  
'Are you here on horseback?'  
'No, I drove over, why?'  
'Okay. Brilliant! - Here's the deal: I'll help you out with towels and dishcloths and you help me out with getting something to feed me and my sisters that isn't broccoli.'  
'Oh dear, then you are in even greater need than I. Broccoli, you say...? Let's hurry, it's an emergency!'  
'Did you have a clown for breakfast this morning?'  
'No, it tasted funny,' Darcy dead-panned with a completely straight face and Elizabeth could not help laughing.  
'Lizzyyyyyyy,' Lydia suddenly wailed as she trudged down the stairs. 'What's for dinner?'  
Yawning she came into view and stopped in her tracks as she saw Darcy standing in the middle of the hallway.  
'Oh, sorry...,' she giggled and then carried on down the stairs. 'I didn't know your boyfriend was here.'  
In some mortification, Darcy quickly averted his eyes when he saw Lydia in her scanty little baby-doll pyjamas, while Elizabeth, equally mortified, decided to leave her sister's remark uncommented. Whatever she said on the subject now, would only make matters worse anyway.  
'Lydia, could you please get dressed? Or at least put on a bathrobe or something?' she instead suggested, grabbing her youngest sister by the shoulders to push her back up the stairs. 'We'll be back in half an hour, okay? We just go and get some Indian takeaway.'  
'Oh come now, don't be such a prude. I am sure Mr Darcy has seen women with less on. Can I have a poppadom?'  
'Go!'  
'Yeah, no need to be jealous,' Lydia grinned, blowing her a raspberry.

Very mature...

'Sorry about that,' Elizabeth sighed, reaching for her jacket. 'And thank you for your help. By the way, have you eaten anything?'  
'Scrambled eggs on toast. Actually, thinking about it now, the fact that I couldn't find a dishcloth then should have been a give away that there might not be a towel either.'  
'Perhaps. But not necessarily. Would you like to join us for dinner? It's on me. It's the least I can do for all your help. And with a bit of luck, Kitty and Lydia eat in the living room while watching telly. They normally do when they get away with it.'  
She was actually fairly surprised, when he accepted, though whether it was pleasantly so or not, she wasn't sure. She still couldn't make him out. There were times when she quite liked him, and times when she thought him to be nothing more than a pompous arse. Well, fortunately at the moment it was the former, so why not?


	8. Chapter 8 - The Full Monty

_Chapter 8:_

 _The Full Monty_

He had slept exceptionally well, despite his bed smelling of mothballs and despite the fact that he had eaten far too much far too late. It was early still, that much he knew, and a look at his watch told him, that it was only half past five. Good, half an hour longer! Darcy might be an early riser, but there was no need to overdo things, was there?  
But just as he dozed off again, he suddenly became aware of the reason he had woken up so early in the first place. A car was approaching. Or rather many of them. What the heck was going on? Oh, yes, the filming crew...

Wait, what? This early? They couldn't be serious, could they? Well, obviously they were.  
Getting up from his bed, Fitzwilliam Darcy glanced out of his window, pushing aside the faded curtains to see a whole caravan of lorries, vans and smaller cars arrive and within minutes the whole driveway of Netherfield was packed with a crowd of people. It kind of reminded him of Pemberley during the summer holidays when groups of tourists would arrive to trudge through his home, a home that was also a museum. Weird concept, thinking about it. Sometimes it felt odd at best and uncomfortable at worst to have people gawk at how he and his family lived, and he had not made that decision lightly. However, with the holiday homes and the small hotel he owned he needed an attraction other than the Peaks to lure them there, and while Chatsworth and Matlock were not far off, Pemberley was, as a matter of fact, equally awe-inspiring and most and for all, right on site.  
For now, the whole crew looked normal enough, Darcy thought as he watched them unpack until someone realised that the front door was still locked. A violent rattling and knocking was the result and with a sigh, for he knew Bingley too well to assume that he was up already, he reached for his dressing gown and made his way downstairs to open the door.

It was not as if it could be avoided, could it?  
'Ah, Mr Bingley?' a middle-aged man with slicked back thinning hair, a shirt open to almost his waist and a solid gold chain around his neck asked, reaching out his well-manicured hand.  
'No, Mr Bingley is still asleep, I fear. We didn't expect you to be quite this early. You will have to make do with me.'  
'But this is Netherfield House, isn't it?'  
Had they not bothered to look it up?  
'Yes, it is. I take it you are here for the filming?'  
What a stupid question, when right behind said man cameras of various sizes and several spotlights were unpacked and unceremoniously dropped on the gravel. Well, the patch of weeds that was supposed to be the gravel driveway, more like.  
'Exactement. That's us. Monty Howard is the name, you might have heard of me?'  
The man glanced at him hopefully.

Should he lie? No, bad idea. When in doubt always go with the truth.  
'I am afraid I haven't, Mr Howard.'  
'Ah, call me Monty, we're not such a stuck up bunch here, eye. Not much _bourgeoisie_ with our lot. You know, in our line of work it helps to loosen up. Excuse me - Perry, have you seen Gloria yet?'  
'Nope. Knowing her she'll be a while, Monty, especially if she's forgotten to put in her contacts,' a lanky guy with a pen and notepad answered, seemingly trying to organise things before they got out of hand.

Fat chance!  
'Sorry, she's our star, you know? But she can be quite hopeless when it comes to finding her way around.'  
Darcy bit his tongue. So, Gloria was her name. To him, she had not looked very glorious the previous day, but thankfully tastes differ.  
'Perry, if she isn't here in half an hour, call her, will you?'  
'Sure, boss,' the man replied, now dragging a crate with God knew what across the path and up the steps. 'Hey, Tom, can you give me a hand please?'  
At that moment Monty's telephone began to ring.

Why on earth would a grown man choose the crazy frog, of all things evil, as a ringtone?  
'Yeah, is that you Gloria? - What do you mean you can't find a tube that's going to Meryton? Of course, you can't find one, this is the country, honey. - No, you would have to take a train, darling. - What? Why are you taking public transport anyway? What's happened to your car? - You lost what?! - Your driver's license? Bloody hell, how did you manage to do that? - Ah, alright. Never mind... - Yes, yes, yes, we'll pick you up from the station. - Hell, how am I supposed to know from which fucking station the train leaves and when? Use the bloody internet. - What do you mean how? You've got a phone, don't you? - Yes exactly, that thing you hold in your hand. Call me ba...' for a moment Monty looked baffled, staring at the mobile in his hand.  
'Hung up,' he, at last, shrugged, turning back towards Darcy. 'So, where can we pack all our stuff?'  
How was he supposed to know?  
'Whoo-hoo, I'm sorry I'm late,' a well-known voice cried out from around the corner of the house.  
Caroline? Great! Wasn't she supposed to be kind of grounded in London?  
'Ah, Fitzwilliam, dear, good to see that at least someone is up and about. I take it Charles is still sleeping?'  
' Yes, he is, obviously, considering the time. We didn't think you would turn up this early,' Darcy remarked icily, casting a glance at his watch.  
Just about six. Under normal circumstances, he would be just about to brush his teeth.  
'Oh, we have a very busy schedule, Fitzwilliam,' Monty piped up.  
'Mr Darcy, to you. I am very much _bourgeoisie_ , I am afraid. Caroline, what are you doing here? I thought you were in London.'  
'I am. I mean, not right now, of course, but someone has to show them around the location and make sure everything is in order. And knowing my brother it won't be him.'  
Well, a bit of order would be good, he supposed. With every passing minute the team had spent there, the chaos had increased tenfold, and he started to doubt their professionalism somehow.  
'So, Monty, dear, where do you want to go? You said something about a library, didn't you?'  
Monty Howard nodded eagerly.  
'Yes, and we need a couple of bedrooms, naturally. You also said something about stables. Do we need to hire any animals or do you have some on site?'  
'Oh, Fitzwilliam's got horses.'  
'Great! That'll do.'  
Darcy wanted to protest, but before he could even open his lips, Caroline and Monty had all but shoved him aside and stepped into the entrance hall.  
'Wonderful place, just what we've been looking for!'  
Shaking his head, Darcy made his way back to his room, to get dressed. He had just stripped and was now rummaging through his suitcase to find a pair of underpants when the door was flung open. Just like that. Bloody fantastic! Just what a man wants at six in the fucking morning.  
'Oh, sorry, we thought this is the red bedroom.'  
'The _red_ bedroom, if there is such a thing, is _elsewhere_ , and now please close the door!'  
'Hey, chill down, man!' the roady, or whatever his occupation was, replied lazily, leaving little doubt that what he smoked was not exactly tobacco, and most certainly not legal unless one happened to be in Amsterdam. But last he checked... - No, this was still Hertfordshire, England.  
'I _am_ chilled, that is the point. It's cold and draughty and I would like to get dressed in peace and most and for all, in _solitude_.'  
'Yeah, man!'  
The stoned bloke was about to close the door when Bingley kept him from it and stepped into Darcy's room.  
'What's going on?' he mumbled sleepily still not quite awake.  
'The film-team, remember? It's nothing more than an ordinary Monday morning, I would say. Oh, and your sister is back on site.'  
Bingley grimaced and then turned around again without saying another word. He really wasn't much of a morning person, though normally he managed to hide it quite well behind his natural cheerfulness.

Half an hour later Darcy was downstairs again, only to find that the kitchen had been made a meeting room and had he hoped for a cup of tea and a slice of toast, it was in vain, for it seemed that somebody had helped him- or herself to all their meagre food supplies.  
There was nothing to do but go shopping, it seemed. He was not really in the mood for an eat-sod-all diet and with Caroline around, he definitely needed something to settle his stomach.  
'Where are you going, Darcy?' Bingley now dressed and half-way awake asked.  
'Grocery-shopping. Our _guests_ have raided the fridge.'  
'Oh, I took the liberty of serving them some breakfast,' Caroline piped up from behind them, standing casually in the doorway.

Today she looked slightly more dressed in her jeggings and blouse, though the material of the latter was thin enough to reveal that she wore no bra.  
'Did you now?' her brother asked coldly, obviously thinking of how she was responsible for this mess in the first place.  
Seriously, there was not much love lost between the two siblings. Not at the moment at any rate.  
'Caro, I thought I told you to get your butt over to London and stay out of my life for once.'  
'Hey, calm down, I'm only here today to see that everyone is settled. I will be off in a minute and see that nothing went wrong with their reservations at that thing they call a hotel around here.'  
'Then, by all means, do so and be gone.'  
'Are you kicking me out?' she pouted.  
Dear me, when would she finally learn, that duck-face was a very unflattering expression?  
'Wow, you are quick on the uptake...' Charles threw back sarcastically.

Good indication, if one knew him at all, that he was pretty pissed right now.  
'Can you give me a lift, Fitzwilliam?' Caroline turned on him with a sickeningly sweet smile.  
'What's with your own car?'  
Batting her eyelashes she replied: 'I can pick it up later. I mean, since you go into tow...'  
Darcy did not wait for her to finish, but took his keys and made a run for it. Yes, perhaps he was a coward, but with a woman like Caroline Bingley, it ensured a man's survival, that much was certain. Better be safe than sorry.

He had taken his time. Actually, he had driven all the way over to St. Albans to go shopping, instead of using the local Tesco's, but he really wasn't keen on being back asap. Opting instead to linger even longer, yeah, he knew it wasn't exactly fair on Bingley, since the poor sod now had to wait for his breakfast, he plunked down in the cafeteria of the so called Shopping-Supercentre and ordered a cup of tea.

Tea always soothed his nerves, especially when laced with a good shot of Whiskey.  
Unfortunately, it was too early for that and besides, he still needed to drive.  
Admittedly, the situation was such, that in a couple of years from now, it presumably would serve well as a hilarious anecdote. But as it was with all such circumstances, when one was actually faced with them, they were nothing but annoying. It went along the same lines as waking up after a really wild party at college only to find that the felt tip one's "friends" had used to scribble on one's arms and forehead, was a permanent one, or that the place where one woke up was not a bed or couch but a park bench and all one was wearing was women's underwear, suspenders and lace stockings included. Oh, and the classic at agricultural college had been wedging an unconscious person's privates in a blow-up sex-doll sheep.

Yeah, there are things such as that. Sure, who didn't want to have sex with a sheep at least once in one's life? Okay, pretty much everybody he knew. Or so he at least hoped. Rhys perhaps. And why was he pondering on this rubbish anyway?  
When at last it was unavoidable to return to Netherfield he sighed heavily, wondering what would await him.

Actually, as long as Caroline wasn't there, he was pretty much fine with anything. At one point in his life, he had actually been fine with her being around, but unfortunately, she was the kind of woman that when smiled at and treated with courtesy, she assumed she was hit on. And then there was the fact that he had money. Old money. Lots of it.

The consequence was, that, though he had never given her any reason, had treated her with the same politeness as every other woman of his acquaintance, she had quickly turned into a mix between an octopus and a leech, both creatures he didn't particularly like. No, that was not quite accurate, either gave him the creeps, in combination they made him run at top speed. It was just his luck, that she happened to be his best friend's sister, and with that almost impossible to avoid for all eternity.  
Climbing out of his car, he was immediately faced with none other than Gloria. Whoohoo!  
'Excuse me, where do I find the stables? They told me I should step out of the door and then go right and around the corner, but there is nothing but a wall.'  
'That's because they meant the other _right_.'  
'What?'  
Oops, yeah, she was a natural blonde, he shouldn't forget that...  
'Lady, you turned left instead of right. However, you could have opened the gate over there and gone around that way, but the other way is a lot easier since the gate is a bit rusty.'  
'Gate?'  
'Let me guess, you are not wearing your contacts again?'  
'How did you know? - Well, I don't need them since I'm not allowed to drive for the next six months. That's half a year, you know?! But some fucking wanker called the police and told them I was driving dangerously. Can you believe it?'  
'Yep. By the way, that _wanker_ was me.'  
'What? Why?'  
She seemed seriously shocked by that revelation.  
'Take an educated guess.'  
'What kind of guess?'  
Rolling his eyes in exasperation Darcy mumbled: 'Never mind!'  
Okay, that was already twice for today so far, and the day was still young. Too young. 

After unloading the car and storing the food, Darcy dodged about thirty people on his way up to his room. Just half an hour of peace and quiet. Half an hour of reading, and afterwards perhaps a little horse-riding, that was just the thing to go for. And when that was done, perhaps he could continue with the inventory. Even these people had to call it a day eventually, no matter how tight their schedule was.  
Opening the door to his room his mouth fell open.

At one point or other, it was presumably every man's dream to find a naked and willing woman in one's bed and yes, he was no exception there. What was normally not included in such a dream was a whole crew of people taking care of the lighting, the sound and the filming as well as a frantic looking man in historical costume trying to get _it_ up again.  
'Ah, sorry for the inconvenience, we'll be done shortly. John just has to come again. We would have been done by now, had not one of the spots blown up just when he came all over...'  
Darcy lifted his hands in a defensive gesture. This was decidedly TMFI.  
'Stop, I don't want to know. And thinking about it, I'll just quickly grab my things and be gone.'  
As if in a daze Darcy walked down the corridor and stairs completely lost in his own thoughts.  
'Darcy, are you alright?'  
'Do I look alright to you, Bingley?' he sighed, putting down his bag.  
'It was a rhetorical question.'  
'They have taken over my room.'  
'You are kidding, right?'  
'No.'  
'Oh, I wanted to tell you, but you rushed past me as if I were the devil,' Caroline pouted, once again.  
And what did she mean with "as if" she were the devil? She bloody was!  
'They tried to film in the red bedroom, but the lighting there wasn't very good at this time of day, so I moved them over to yours. I hope you don't mind.'  
Once more Darcy's mouth was gaping open. Oh, the audacity of that woman!  
Bingley recovered first: 'Caroline!'  
'What?'  
'Get _the fuck_ out of _my_ house and _stay_ away from it. As a matter of fact, don't ever come back, do you hear?'

'Charles, don't you think you are overreacting a little bit,' Caroline dared ask despite her brother's livid expression.

And Charles Bingley livid was some sight to behold. One would not believe it, if one didn't see it for oneself.  
'What? _Me_ overreacting? _You_ , sister dearest, tricked me into this mess when you deliberately _took off_ the back page of the contract for the gardener and switched it with the one of this so-called film crew, so I would sign it completely oblivious to what it actually was I was signing and even though I've read through even the small print as you know I always do. And then when all was sorted, you swapped the sheets back again, very sneaky. And _you_ dare tell me I'm overreacting?!'  
'Well, I knew you would never sign the contract otherwise,' Caroline Bingley shrugged unconcernedly.  
'Exactly. You got that absolutely right. I wouldn't have.'  
'I needed the money, Charles. And come now, it's only for a week, nothing more. So stop fussing. You've got it easy, you know? You've inherited dad's business and what about me? I've nothing but this meagre allowance.'  
'Meagre? You have an allowance of over _half a million_ Pounds each and every year without needing to do _anything_ for it. While I, Caroline, might have gotten the greater share of the inheritance, but you may not have noticed, I have to work my _arse off_ to keep things going. And if I have made half a million for myself by the end of the year, it was actually a good one, for most of the money I make goes back into the business. Oh, but that is what you don't get, is it? So, if you wouldn't spend all your money on rubbish and actually took up a profession instead of going on daily shopping sprees, you wouldn't always be fucking skint. It's your own fault, so you better stop complaining, for no-one is listening to you anyway.'  
Darcy stared at his friend in astonishment. As said, Bingley hardly ever lost his temper, but if, it usually was big time, and thinking about it, it was almost exclusively over his sister.  
Wiping away an imaginary tear, Caroline stilted out of the room and a couple of minutes later she drove off with break-neck speed, almost running over Monty, who had just rounded the house, phone on his ear.  
'So, now that is sorted. And hopefully it'll last for some time. Though I dare doubt it'll sink in with her. By the way, I would completely understand if you'd want to leave, Darcy,' Bingley smiled sadly.  
'No, I'll stay. I can hardly leave you alone with this whole mess, can I?'  
'You easily could, but cheers, mate. I appreciate it.'  
Suddenly Bingley's face fell. He had been standing at the window ever since watching his sister's departure.  
'Oh, Lord... - NO!'  
Looking outside likewise, quickly Darcy ran after his friend before the inevitable happened.


	9. Chapter 9 - Someone call Fireman Sam

_Chapter 9:_

 _Someone call Fireman Sam_

'Lizzy, have you heard?' Lydia gasped breathlessly, carelessly flinging her backpack into the corner of the kitchen.  
'That you are back home? Sure, it was hard to miss with all the racket you make. Why are you back already?'  
'Oh, I am not skiving lessons if that is what you're worried about. Mrs Richards has gotten sick and afternoon lessons were cancelled. Where's Jane?'  
'Upstairs making beds and dusting, why?'  
'And mum?'  
'In the garden, cutting back the roses. _Why_?'  
'Oh, I have such delicious news... - You won't believe what I've just heard at Boot's. I mean, I only went in there for some new lip gloss and then Mr Bingley's sister came in and said she needed... - Oh, but I'll just go and get Jane and mum quickly. - JANE! MUM!'  
And with that she ran out, leaving her older sister utterly bewildered.

What could Caroline Bingley possibly need, aside from a whole new façade? But surely her buying make-up would most certainly not have Lydia that excited, would it? Hm, a pregnancy test, perhaps? Was Mr Darcy going to be a daddy? Oddly enough, the thought was not quite as amusing as she would have thought. Rather disturbing really.  
'JANE! - MUM!' Lydia carried on screaming as if she wanted to bring down the whole house.  
'What is it? Has someone died? Has a plane crashed nearby or something?' Mrs Bennet asked breathlessly before, in an imitation of her youngest daughter, she threw the basket with the cut off roses into the corner where it ended up right next to Lydia's school bag.  
'No idea, mama.'  
'But you must know something. What did Lydia say?'  
'Mum, she didn't tell me anything yet.'  
'Oh, but...'  
She was interrupted by the entrance of Jane and Lydia, the former being literally dragged behind the latter. Shame Lydia never used that much energy when it came to doing things around the house that would benefit them all, like once in a while hoovering the floor, or clearing the table.  
'What is it, Lydia, dear? Are you well?'  
But before Mrs Bennet could, in a surprisingly instinctive maternal way, feel her forehead, to see whether her daughter was ill, Lydia, at last, broke the news. Or more accurately, dropped the bomb.  
'I've just told Lizzy, that I went into Boot's to get new lip gloss when I saw that this Caroline Bingley was standing at the counter, looking very secretive. I mean, I really couldn't help it, I just _had_ to know what she was on about, and what do you think she asked for?'  
'No idea, Lyddy,' Elizabeth sighed, but then, to accommodate her sister added jokingly: 'Condoms? Lube? Pregnancy test?'  
'Exactly!' Lydia beamed. 'I mean, she didn't want a pregnancy test or condoms, but she asked for _lube_. And not just that, I mean, they have it on display in the store, don't they? Right next to the other naughty stuff, but she seriously needed _more_ than was on the shelf. More! She bought frickin' twenty bottles of it!'  
No-one said a word, but their expressions were expressive enough. Jane looked nothing but mildly bewildered, Mrs Bennet confused, Elizabeth was close to hysterics and Lydia looked triumphant.  
'But that was not all,' Lydia added after a dramatic pause. 'When the pharmacist packed her stuff, she made a very important face, telling the lady that she needed to head back on set, for they were making a film at Netherfield. Can you believe it? They are making a fucking movie right in front of our doorstep! We have to go and take a look. I mean, how cool is that?!'  
Elizabeth had an inkling what kind of film Miss Bingley had been talking about, and suddenly she remembered Darcy laughing almost hysterically the other day when Bingley had said that his schedule had been overthrown by unexpected circumstances.

It wasn't very hard to put two and two together, especially not with the items Caroline had just purchased. And it was also fairly clear that neither Bingley nor Darcy had much, if anything, to do with it, though she doubted her mother and Lydia would realise that. No, she couldn't do that to Jane, she had to keep them here somehow. Safely at home where no harm could be done.  
'I don't think that is a very good idea, Lydia,' she carefully started only to be sidelined by none other than Jane.  
'But come, Lizzy, what harm would it do?' her oldest sister asked softly.  
Judging by her serene expression it was perfectly clear that she had not connected the dots as she herself had. Jane never thought bad of people and it showed, making her look painfully naive at times. Like right now, for example.  
'Well, but I think we'll be terribly in the way, don't you? I mean Caroline might have said that they are making a film, but it could be a documentary or a commercial to promote the new conference centre for all we know and that wouldn't be all that interesting at all.'  
As she said it, she realised that the latter was nonsensical. No man in his right mind would make a commercial of a building in desperate need of an overhaul, and as always when it was most inconvenient, for once her mother was quick on the uptake.  
'Codswallop, Lizzy, what a silly idea that he would make a commercial at this point. No, I think Lydia is right, we should have a look. We don't even need to get close, just peep around a bit from the distance.'  
'Sure, Tom,' Elizabeth muttered in resignation.  
She very well knew when she had lost a fight, and there was no way, to keep her mother and Lydia from going now, especially not if she kept resisting. On the contrary, they would be even more determined. Both her mother and youngest sister were like a pair of donkeys. If you wanted them to go one way they were set on going the other. Okay, it was worth a try. Perhaps if she tricked them Muppet-style...  
'Then why don't we go right now?' Elizabeth smiled, hoping that it would stop them in their tracks, for surely, Lydia would want to look her best, in case she'd be spotted and promised an acting career, and her mother in her gardener's apron and wellies did not look very flash either.  
But no such luck. Strategies were all nice and well, but only if they worked. Hers obviously did not. Shit!  
'That, Lizzy, sounds like a plan. I just quickly search for my car key. It always seems to vanish the moment I need it.'  
For an instant Elizabeth was hopeful again, even offering to look for it herself so she could indeed make it disappear for the rest of the day, but one reach into her pocket, and Mrs Bennet had turned into Houdini and miraculously produced her car key as if out of thin air. That was a first. Normally she would need at least ten minutes to get hold of the presently very offensive thing.  
'Well, then let's go,' their mother beamed, looking just as astonished as her daughters at finding her keys so easily.  
'Should we not perhaps wait for Mary and Kitty?' Jane suggested, pointing out the obvious.  
Wow, there was hope after all!  
'We could pick Kitty up on the way, and knowing Mary, she wouldn't want to come anyway.'  
Looking at the clock over the kitchen door Elizabeth sighed. They would be just in time to pick Kitty up before she would get onto the bus home. Life really wasn't fair sometimes.

Well, never mind. There was no use crying over spilt milk, was there?

When they turned into the driveway to Netherfield House, they almost got hit by a car.  
'Well, did you see that!' Mrs Bennet fumed, honking her horn even though the culprit had long gone.  
'Mum, calm down, nothing happened...' Jane tried to soothe.  
'But it bloody well could have!'  
'Perhaps we should turn around and go home?' Elizabeth asked hopefully in one last desperate attempt to prevent the inevitable.  
'But I wanna go and have a look!' both Kitty and Lydia cried out in unison and that was that.  
Putting the gear back in, Mrs Bennet started the car again and with a determined mien began driving towards the house.  
Netherfield Park was indeed buzzing with activity. Okay, perhaps activity was the wrong word, for it would have implied some kind of organisation, and that was clearly lacking. Whoever was filming here, and there was little doubt that that was what was going on, obviously did so in complete chaos. Cars, vans and lorries were parked nilly-willy everywhere. In between them people ran around like headless chickens, though perhaps not with quite as much brains, and equipment had been seemingly dropped at random. At least her fears seemed to be unjustified, for the few actors she could spot among the crew-members wore historical costumes. Phew!  
They had barely gotten out of the car, however, when both Mr Bingley and Mr Darcy came running towards them, both looking flustered and slightly red in the face and clearly not from exertion.  
'Ah, how good to see you!' Mr Bingley exclaimed breathlessly, reaching out his hand.  
'Yes, very lovely that you've come to visit us,' Darcy added, sounding as if he was close to choking.  
'Oh, it is nothing! We've long since wanted to come over,' Mrs Bennet beamed at them. 'Lydia just happened to overhear that you've got a film team on site and you know how young girls are...'  
Long since wanted to come over? Mr Bingley had barely arrived a week ago and it was only on Friday they had met for the first time.  
'Yes, Mr Bingley, we are so excited. Do you think you could ask for Kitty and me to be extras in the film?' Lydia begged, making good use of her famed puppy-face. 'That would be so cool!'  
Charles Bingley looked close to fainting at these words and his smile was slightly forced, while Mr Darcy looked like he wished the ground would open up beneath him and swallow him whole. Elizabeth knew that feeling very well, and that was despite being used to her family.

So that was what Kitty and Lydia had been whispering about in the back seat of their van. She should have known.  
'I mean we've even got costumes, right?' Kitty nudged her favourite sister.  
'Well... - I am not sure. Perhaps that is... - I mean...' Bingley stammered, sounding increasingly agitated.  
'He wants to say "no"!' Darcy, at last, managed to find his voice again.  
'Oh, what a shame! But we can have a look around, can't we?'  
'We were asked to not... - disturb them,' was Bingley's evasive reply.  
'Oh, but we would be very quiet, not say a word and sneak around silently,' Lydia pouted but was firmly stopped in her tracks by both Darcy and Bingley blocking her way, panic clearly edged into their faces.  
'What kind of film is it anyway? Some historical romance?' their mother dug deeper, peeping over Darcy's broad shoulders to get a better view, standing on tip-toes.

Shit, Darcy was a tall man!  
'Yes...- yes, a historical romance, that is quite right,' Bingley still stammered, and Elizabeth could have sworn that the corners of Darcy's mouth started to twitch at that, while at the same time cold sweat covered his forehead.  
'Wow, look at that lady over there!'  
Elizabeth recognised her immediately as the woman who had asked Darcy for the way the previous day. She seemed to look for something. Again.  
'Do you think I could get an autograph from her?' Lydia gasped excitedly.  
Before anybody could reply she had managed to slip through the barrier, by ducking her head and slipping through underneath Bingley's arm and had run towards the woman in question.  
'Is she wearing her contacts today?' Elizabeth couldn't help asking.  
Dryly Darcy replied: 'No, and neither does she carry her brain with her. Oh, and she's lost her driver's licence.'  
'I wonder why that is...'  
It was clear that Darcy wanted to reply something, but he didn't get to it, for, as if the chaos wasn't already big enough, suddenly there was a loud bang and then smoke drifted through the door of the stables and a moment later Darcy's horse ran out in full gallop, clearly spooked. Well, it was a nervous beast anyway even at the best of times.  
'Now this is just swell! Is there nothing these people can do right?' Darcy cursed, before running off.  
'Fire!' an almost completely naked man, stumbling out of the barn, cried out just as Darcy had rounded the corner and was now out of sight.  
A couple of crew members and a sobbing woman in her petticoats followed in his wake.  
'The hay has caught fire. Someone call 999!'  
Okay, her deductions had been right after all...

Historical romance? Right! Most certainly not the kind Jane Austen had written.  
Taking off after Darcy she hoped that there was a garden hose somewhere. To wait for the fire brigade would have been the better option, surely, but she somehow doubted that they would manage to get through with all the vehicles in the way. Not with a fire engine. And then there was also the other horse...- Poor creature! No, she had to act.  
Hurrying into the stables while Mr Darcy tried to catch his bolted beast, she soon found that though the hay was indeed on fire, however, it was but a small flame still, and it obviously was wet hay anyway, which was why it was smoking so violently while at the same time not burning like tinder. Ha, and there was indeed a hose and it even dripped water. Good, at least something went right.

Turning off the electricity, for thank goodness the fuse box was right next to the door, she reached for the nozzle pipe and was astonished herself at how quickly she managed to extinguish the flames. By the time she heard the sirens of the fire brigade, someone had obviously called after all, all was over and she had time to look around.

If they had not lost their heads, this wouldn't have been much of a thing at all. But...  
The culprit was obviously one of the spotlights that lay on the floor. Well, these things could get extremely hot and as if to spite her, the warning sign that it was to be kept from flammable surfaces was clearly visible on the blackened metal. Figures!  
Ah, and there, on a small folding table holding various coffee mugs, was a bright pink bottle of the lube Caroline had purchased. A little bit of a dry spell, was there? Okay, stupid joke, admittedly.  
'What's going on? - Oh, hi Lizzy.'  
Ah, the cavalry at last...  
'Hello Sam,' she sighed, though with a smile.

In a village as small as Longbourn it was inevitable to know each and everybody. And Sam Jonson was actually their next door neighbour.

'Everything is dandy. A bit of hay has caught fire that was all. What exactly happened, I don't know, but we happened to come by and I...'  
Okay, now she only had to manoeuvre herself strategically over to the side so he wouldn't see anything conspicuous.  
'And so you though you'd take matters into your own hands,' Sam finished with a grin, before informing his colleagues via his radio that everything was fine and under control.  
'Yeah,' Elizabeth shrugged.  
'Do you know what's going on here? It looks very busy. Hell, we could hardly get through with all these cars parked randomly in the driveway. Are they making a film or something? Looks like it, don't you think? Anyway, I need to speak to the owner about the incident before something else happens. Do we need to call a doctor?'  
"Psychiatrist, asap! - Or better a whole army of them," Elizabeth thought, but with a smile only shook her head.  
There couldn't be too few words lost over this.  
Right behind her suddenly a horse neighed softly, almost making her jump out of her skin. Oh, she'd almost forgotten about it.

Stumbling Elizabeth turned around only to see it dozing calmly in its stall again as if it had not a care in the world.

Bloody creature! There she had just saved its life and now it played tricks on her.  
'Vet?' Sam asked then startled, now that she had stepped away his eyes had caught the pink bottle...  
'No, the horse seems fine, too.'  
'Right... - Must be some hot kind of movie if even the hay caught fire...' Sam muttered under his breath, the corners of his mouth twitching.  
Stepping outside again, Sam in tow, Elizabeth could see Mr Darcy some way off in the distance, still darting after his beast. Oops, that was a rabbit hole, she presumed. Judging by his progress, it could be a good while until he would be back, plus, he was now limping. Poor sod!

She could not help feeling sorry for him, even though it looked fairly funny how he was limp-running after Hermes.  
Okay, now she just needed to shepherd her mother and sisters back to their van and all would be well.  
Yeah, just...- Right.

She would end up running after them like Darcy was running after his horse.


	10. Chapter 10 - 'Regency Romp'

_Chapter 10:_

 _'Regency Romp'_

Okay, so where were they? The car was still there so they must be close by. Hopefully.  
Looking around her, Elizabeth's jaw dropped.

Mr Darcy running after his horse was by far the most normal sight there was, as were the firemen, who, though snickering, were surprisingly professional. Well, from what she'd heard they had seen worse and weirder things. Like Penny and his attempt in show cooking going tits-up, Mrs Jameson and her lover being wedged tight in an uncomplying folding bed (her now ex-husband was one of the firemen and had been on shift...), and, of course, the absolute classic, Mr Abernathy trapped in the nozzle of his vacuum cleaner...  
The filming of a porn movie, by comparison, probably appeared rather normal to them.  
She felt for Bingley and Jane, but at least they were huddled together like two fearful children while Kitty and Lydia had made good use of the distraction and unsurprisingly were now in the midst of it.  
While Kitty at least had the decency to keep her head up and her eyes above the waistline, Lydia was unabashedly staring downward at the naked man in front of her, as was her mother... Bloody hell! Wasn't she getting too old for this? Okay, her father had been away for... - No, she would not finish this thought!

She knew, of course, that her parents must have had sex at some point in their lives, otherwise, they would not have had five daughters, but it was not an image she wanted to have stuck in her brain.  
But by the looks of it, her mother and sisters either didn't care or still had not realised what was going on.  
'Mum, don't you think we should leave now. I think we've seen enough...'  
'Nonsense, we have hardly taken a good look, Lizzy. And they are such nice people.'

Gods! Just why? And besides, her mother definitely had a good enough look.  
Okay, how to put it best without offending anyone?  
'Mama, I think we better leave.'  
'Oh come, Lizzy, don't be such a prude. You must have seen a naked man before,' Lydia giggled, batting her eyes at the man before her.  
Even he seemed fairly embarrassed by now and that had to say something, for he surely must be used to people taking a closer look at his privates. But he didn't cover them either. Thinking about it though, that might be even more embarrassing right now.  
'Just because they happened to shoot a love scene in the film, doesn't make it porn, after all, does it?' her mother smiled flustered.  
It would be no use to point out that very rarely actors actually got completely naked for intimate scenes. And that they wouldn't require lube...  
'No...'  
'Oh, but that is exactly what we do, isn't it Josh? Earlier the two of us had such a good shag, didn't we?' the contact-lens lady piped up all of a sudden obviously keen on saying something - anything. 'It's quite fun, you know? You get to meet so many wonderful people.'  
Josh, the man in the nude, looked perplexed then exasperated.  
'Shouldn't you be somewhere in the house, Gloria?' he asked tersely.  
Ah, so that was her name. Well, she didn't look very glorious in Elizabeth's opinion. Actually far from it. Would it be considered murder if she throttled her on the spot or would it count as self-defence?  
'Yeah, but I don't know where I'm supposed to be going.'  
Of course, she didn't. Surprise!  
'You know the house is awfully big and all those stairs and rooms and all look the same somehow,' she carried on, not appearing in the slightest embarrassed or concerned about her lack of finding her way around.  
'Well, it would help if you wore your contacts,' Elizabeth could not help remarking, earning her a snort from Josh.  
'Porn? You are filming _pornography_ here at Netherfield?' Mrs Bennet, at last, recovered her voice, looking thoroughly shocked all of a sudden.  
'Yeah, sure. Monty is famous for them. You've probably heard of him. You know he's the one behind "Baroque Babes", "Victorian Virgins", and "Tudor Tarts", he's made a couple of more, but I've forgotten their titles. I was the star in all of them, of course, and remembering everything with all the lines I have to memorise can be a bit challenging. This one is going to be released as "Regency Romp". Brilliant title, isn't it? So ingenious! But Monty is always so clever with his titles.'  
Yeah, right...  
'And you should see his scripts! Very witty, I tell you, when I come into the room during my first scene, I'm supposed to say... - Oh, wait, what was it? I can't quite recall...'  
Who would have thought? And what scripts? What could they possibly say aside from the obligatory moaning and demands to go faster or deeper?  
'I can't believe Mr Bingley would let anybody use his home to film pornography!'  
Obviously, her mother had still not got over that wee bit of information. Knowing her, it would take time and a visit to her sister's. Oh, joy! But that was what one got for not listening.  
'Ah, now I remember,' Gloria beamed at her, much like Archimedes must have looked when crying out "eureka" when he'd discovered his principles. 'It's these stupid French names that get me confused, you know? But I think I've nailed the accent. I always do. - "Welcome to my home, Monsieur d'Arcy, I hope you have had a good ride." - Brilliant innuendo, isn't it? _Ride_...- There is more, but I think I need to look it up again.'  
Or have someone read it to her more like. Reading seemed a bit too complex for Gloria to be able to manage all on her own. Just to think of memorising all the letters of the alphabet. There were twenty-six of them after all and they had a tendency to appear in different orders when spelling out the various words. All very tricky. And yes, definitely nailed the accent. Not. She just sounded as if she had a stuffy nose.

Wait, what had she just said? "Welcome Monsieur d'Arcy"?! _Holy shit_!  
And as if on queue Mr Darcy rounded the corner with his petulant horse in tow, limping and looking positively pissed. His ride had obviously not been a good one.  
But seriously, there was nothing to do but to start laughing hysterically.

Where was the candid camera? This could not be for real, could it? It was just too much. Even the folks from Little Britain would never dare attempt a sketch like this, for fear it would be too over the top.  
'I'm glad you could catch your horse again, Sir, I told them it was a bad idea to take it out of its box when it was clearly nervous...'  
It was Josh, naked as he was, who managed to bring back some sense. Darcy, however still looked thunderous, though he gave a short, acknowledging nod in the young man's direction, before taking a deep breath.  
'And _who_ took Hermes out of his box?' Darcy demanded to know, his voice raised so he could address everyone at once. 'For I swear I'll kick this person's bollocks! Have you lot any idea what you are first of all doing to this poor animal and secondly how much I had to pay for him? Bloody hell, at the very least you could have asked! Not that I would have agreed to any of this, but I could have given you the number of a guy who trains animals for filming. Is it really too much to ask to keep your fingers of one's property?'  
'Miss Bingley told us you wouldn't mind, Sir.'  
Was that a vein throbbing on his temple?  
'Okay, let me tell you something, Miss Bingley might have organised you this location by tricking her brother into signing the contract with Monty, but Mr Bingley is the boss around here not his shrew of a sister. And besides, these are _my_ horses. They don't belong to the house and are not inventory in any shape or form but actual living creatures and when one doesn't know how to handle them then stay the FUCK away!'  
'Hey man, chill down,' a stoned-looking man tried to intervene, munching on a piece of cake or the like.  
'I already told you, I am _fucking chilled_ , I've never been as bloody relaxed in all my life as I'm right now.'  
'Okay, okay, I get it, you don't want to calm down...'  
'That's not one of the muffins I bought this morning, is it?'  
The man just shrugged and held the last piece in front of Darcy's nose.  
Sighing Darcy muttered: 'Of _course_ it bloody is. What was I thinking?'  
'I know just the right thing for you...' Gloria interjected and ignoring Darcy's angry face, or perhaps she could just not see it, put her hand on his shoulder. 'What you need, luv, is a nice little blow job. You are incredibly stiff darling.'  
'I'm tense, not fucking stiff, and certainly not at the moment anyway and now take your hands off of me. And don't even think of getting your mouth anywhere close to my crotch. Ever.'  
'Oh come now, a bit of sex will relax you and I'm already prepared for my next scene..." she pulled out a bottle of lube from between her substantial bosom and held it up to implicate what she meant.  
Darcy did not dignify her with an answer but turned around on his heels, to stable his horse. Even when looking at his retreating back it was easy to see how livid he was.  
'Lizzy, we are leaving right now! Kitty, Lydia, come here! Jane?'  
Oh, all of a sudden her mother wanted to leave. Just when it was starting to get interesting...

And just when the situation was relaxing enough as the film-team, at last, resumed their work, for Bingley to explain it. For though he had stood with Jane, he did not seem to have said a lot, if anything. His face sported a brilliant shade of red.  
'We are not staying at this place for a moment longer!' her mother ranted on. 'This is despicable, to have such films made and in front of everybody. My poor young daughters, to have to witness such a disgraceful sight! I've always said that it is a very stupid idea to come here in the first place.'  
Of course, her mother's reality would, when it suited her, conveniently diverge from everybody else's, like her own for example, for as far as Elizabeth could remember... - But what did she know?  
Mrs Bennet steered towards Jane and Bingley, her face filled with indignation as she cried out: 'I have to say, Mr Bingley, I am very disappointed in you! You could have warned us.'  
The poor man's mouth fell open, his face red in shame anyway, turned a deeper shade of crimson, just when he had obviously calmed down enough to finally speak to Jane.

Jane had that effect on people, Elizabeth knew that well. It always had on her.  
'Mama!'  
'Oh, don't _mama_ me, Jane. I am sorry to say, my dear, but all men are the same. Always thinking of the one thing only, running after it with their appendages as if they were dipping rods reacting to water veins.'  
Well, theoretically she could have hardly put it any better. When it came to it, they _were_ dipping rods reacting to wet places. But one look at her mother's face showed clearly that she had not taken notice of the double entendre of her words.

However, Kitty giggled. Okay, at least one of her younger sisters was not completely daft. Oh dear, and Jane looked mortified.  
'Jane, I think it really might be better to leave at this point,' she nodded her head slightly towards her mother to indicate that she was the main reason she thought so. 'Perhaps you and Charles could meet later? For a chat?'  
'Meet _that_ man later?! I'm not sure about his influence on my young and innocent daughters, Lizzy.'  
Young _and_ innocent? They were either the one or the other but certainly not both. Okay, Mary was the exception but she wasn't here anyway.  
'Mum, Jane is twenty-three, she can make her own decisions, alright? So, you wanted to leave, then let's do so for heaven's sake.'  
'Please, just let us tell you how sorry we are for all this mess. We actually did try to keep it a secret, but it seems someone must have spilt the tea.'  
Where the heck had Darcy come from all of a sudden, wasn't he supposed to look after his horses?

On top of that, he had managed to make both his friend and himself, look incredibly guilty in the matter with the way he had put his words. And though Elizabeth knew exactly what he meant and that he could hardly make excuses for things he had no hand in in the first place, her mother would surely take his words the wrong way.  
'You should not have let Netherfield to such people, that is what you should have done. Not try and keep this a secret. If you had acted as you ought, there would have been no need to keep secrets from your neighbours!'  
Yep. She only heard what she wanted to hear, as always.  
'If we have offended you, it was not intentional, Mrs Bennet.'  
'What's that?' someone shouted. 'Why is there no electricity here? I can't make a film like this!'  
'Dare we hope?' Darcy mumbled, his face exasperated to a point that she could have given him a hug only to cheer him up a little.  
But no, perhaps he would think her to be like Gloria, despite the decided difference between a hug and a blow job. Nope still bad idea. No hugs for Mr Darcy then. Never mind.


	11. Chapter 11 - Gossipmongering

_Chapter 11:_

 _Gossipmongering_

'Why are we stopping at Aunty Rosie's?' Elizabeth asked, though she had a sneaky suspicion.  
Her mother was a hopeless gossip and her aunt was even worse.  
'After all that hubbub, I need someone sensible for a change,' Mrs Bennet sighed, parking the car at the side of the road right on two very visible yellow lines. 'I still can't believe Mr Bingley would do something like this. He had seemed such a nice man.'  
Sensible? Had she really just said she needed someone sensible and referred to Mrs Phillips in the same sentence? Yeah, sure. Okay, perhaps it had to be seen in comparison. When compared to Gloria, she could perhaps, with a lot of good will, be considered sensible.  
'Mama, Mr Bingley _is_ a nice man. And honourable. I'm sure he's got nothing to do with all of this...' Elizabeth once again tried to argue with her mother.  
'Codswallop, it's his house, isn't it? So everything that's happening there is down to him.'  
Okay, there was no point trying to reason with her mother at the moment, she would not listen to any sense. And besides, to assume things and spread them, was always so much more interesting.  
'Mama, shouldn't you better park a little further down the road?' Jane asked with some concern in her voice not giving away much of what she actually felt about the situation. 'I mean, what if you get a ticket or they tow your car?'  
'Nonsense! Why would they do that? I park here all the time,' Mrs Bennet shrugged.  
That explained a lot. There was at least one parking ticket each month, often two or three.  
'As far as I know, you've never ever parked here, Mama,' Elizabeth threw in.  
'Maybe, but at any rate, this is an emergency, isn't it?'  
What on earth was her definition of an emergency? As far as Elizabeth was aware, the legal definition of an emergency was an event or a situation which threatened serious damage to human welfare. There was every reason to doubt that disposing of gossip as soon as one possibly could belonged in the realm of such situations or events, but she might be wrong there. Her mother would certainly think so and knowing her aunt she, too.  
'Do you want us to go shopping while you're talking to Aunt Rosie?' Elizabeth inquired, tired of listening to her mother and remembering the basically empty freezer and fridge at home.  
'Oh, but don't you want to visit your aunt? She is always so happy to see you.'  
Fanny Bennet looked expectantly from one of her daughters to the other, but neither of them appeared very keen on joining her. Elizabeth was not surprised. Rosalind Phillips, lovable as she was on occasion, was tedious to listen to at the best of times, and she had a decided habit of exaggerating everything. By the time they would leave her house, she and their mother would be convinced, that the whole of Netherfield had burnt down and that the old house, despite having burnt down, had been turned into a whorehouse, with Mr Bingley being the pimp and Mr Darcy the madam of the brothel or something along those lines. There would be naked people running around everywhere doing it in every corner, oh yeah, and let's not forget the horses. One hardly dared to wonder what they were used for...  
'Oh, okay, then go,' she finally agreed when no-one had deigned her with an answer. 'Have you any idea what we might need?'  
How about everything?  
'Yes, I made a list last night,' Elizabeth held up two sheets of paper.  
'You made a list when your boyfriend was there? Mr D'Arcy... - Seriously, I could think of a couple of things I'd rather do with such a man around,' Lydia giggled, making a kissy face.  
'Mr Darcy isn't my boyfriend and anyway, I wrote it after he'd left.'  
'What, you spent the evening with Mr Darcy?' he mother chimed up.  
'Yes, he came by to look for his friend.'  
'Really, you should relax more,' Lydia carried on.  
Yeah, right. When, in between feeding animals, mucking out stables, harvesting crops, milking cows and doing her usual chores around the house?

But at least Lydia's remark had saved her from further inquiries from her mother. That was something. Though she would not be in the least surprised, should Mrs Phillips ask her in a week or so, how her _love-life_ was going and whether Mr Darcy was good in bed. She really looked forward to it. No, not really. Okay, not at all.  
'Thank you for the advice, Lydia,' Elizabeth remarked testily, taking the car key from Mrs Bennet.  
'Oh, you're welcome.'  
Did her sister really not get that she'd been ironic?  
Well, at least the problem with the parking was solved also. No ticket this time.

Another, and more pressing dilemma however was, how to keep Kitty and mainly Lydia busy during shopping so they wouldn't whine about wanting this or that. It seemed that every time they stepped into a supermarket they turned into toddlers, tantrum included.  
And promptly Lydia announced, as soon as they had driven off: 'I actually need shower gel, shampoo, lip gloss, deodorant and a sarnie. I haven't had anything to eat all day!'  
'What happened to your lunch pack?'  
'Bringing a lunch pack to school is so not cool, Lizzy. No-one does so anymore, you know?'  
Of course, it would be too sensible to take something to eat along...  
'And breakfast?'  
'I overslept,' her sister shrugged.  
Of course, how stupid of her. It was Monday. Last time Lydia had managed to get up on time on a Monday was in sixth grade.  
'And you, Kitty?'  
'Oh, I was on time.'  
'And you didn't think of waking your sister?'  
'I _did_ wake her up. But I only realised that she was still sleeping when I came out of the bathroom.'  
Without Lydia banging on the door, it was actually rather surprising that Kitty hadn't been running late as well. Damn, how did she manage to curl her hair at half past seven in the morning? Elizabeth couldn't possibly say, though mainly because at that time she was already on her way over to the farm.  
Taking the first exit off the roundabout, Elizabeth pulled up their van in the car park and turned it off.  
'Bloody hell, why do you park so far from the entrance? Now we have to walk all this way.'  
It was what, fifty yards? At most! How fucking lazy could one be? Okay, stupid question, it was Lydia after all...

There are but three things in this world that have no limit: Human stupidity, space and Lydia's lazinessi - and truth be told, she was not quite so sure about space.  
'Oh, look, there is Maria!' Kitty cried out, waving at her friend.  
Maria Lucas was Charlotte's younger sister. A quiet girl, but just as empty-headed as Kitty and Lydia, though not quite as lazy and usually better behaved. Emphasis on usually. The exception was when she was with her two friends.  
'Come, we must tell her what just happened,' Lydia giggled, ignoring Jane's pained look, while literally dragging Kitty out of the van.  
'What about your sandwich?' Elizabeth tried to hold them back, but neither her younger sisters listened anymore.  
'Bloody fantastic! Now the whole town will know, young _and_ old. How are you holding up, Jane? You've been awfully silent since we left Netherfield.'  
'What is there to say? Mum is determined to make the most of what we've just witnessed. At least gossip wise. And same with Kitty and Lydia. I can't even fault them for it. It's not as if there is much going on around Meryton, is there?'  
'Listen, Jane, I think, no, I am _convinced_ , that all of this is nothing but a horrible misunderstanding.'  
'Honestly, Lizzy, I don't quite know what to think. I do hope so, and truth be told, I do have trouble thinking Charles would voluntarily let such people into his house. But I also wonder why Charles didn't say anything. He didn't say much when we stood together either, and mainly looked the other way.'  
'Embarrassed much, I would say. Come, Charles Bingley is such an open person, if he were not absolutely mortified by this and had rented Netherfield out to them knowing what these people do for a living, he would have said something, don't you think? So, even his saying nothing rather fits with him being innocent in this matter. Did you see his face when we arrived?'  
Jane nodded, and for a moment her face lit up with a small smile before turning serious again: 'Lizzy, did Mr Darcy tell you anything last night? Was that the reason you tried to keep us away from Netherfield?'  
'Nope, I hadn't had the foggiest. But I had my suspicions from the moment Lydia mentioned Caroline Bingley had bought tons of lube. It was kind of a dead giveaway.'  
Caroline! Of bloody cause...- It all fit together perfectly all of a sudden.  
'What do you say, Jane, we try and talk to them later this evening when the film-crew is gone for the day? As said, I'm dead sure Mr Bingley is as innocent in this as a newborn baby.'  
'That, little sister, is actually a good idea. Let's do that. Talking things over it usually the best one can do. It's certainly better than being upset about nothing,' Jane smiled bravely.  
'Exactly. And now let us make haste before Kitty and Lydia return from feeding Maria with gossip. You take one page of the list and I'll take the other and we make a run for it?'  
'Now you're being silly. Do we really need this much stuff?'  
'Yep. I almost had to eat broccoli last night, had Mr Darcy not saved me from a fate worse than death. So? One, two, three – GO!'  
Laughing both made their way towards the shopping trolleys, and then, taking one each, dashed into the supermarket.  
Bread, sugar, curry powder, cheese, sweet pickle, crisps, flour, mayonnaise... Milk? She had not really written down milk, had she? Bloody hell, she must have been tired. But it had gotten late by the time she had gotten to it. Mr Darcy had only left when Jane and Bingley had arrived from their evening out and that was well past eleven.

'LIZZY? JANE?'  
Lydia. Of course!

If at one point in the future, and truth be told with her grades, that was not wholly unlikely, she had trouble in finding a job, she could always apply as a human burglar alarm. Or alternatively become a politician. She was loud, spoke with determination, never anything of any sense and she liked to keep things vague. On the downside, she was actually painfully honest at times. Okay, not a good idea. So, politician was out of the question. Though, thinking about it, she did on occasion make false promises. It was a step in the right direction, one could say.  
'Lydia, please, can't you just walk down the aisles and check where we are like every _normal_ person instead of screaming the whole place down?'

'I wasn't all that loud.'  
'You were. A plane during take-off is less noisy. Where's Kitty?'  
'Gone to the loo with Maria. Hell, Maria was gawking at us when we told her about our visit to Netherfield... - But I have to say, Josh _is_ actually cute. And at least one can be sure that he knows what to do with his Johnny. _And_ it was actually quite big. I wonder how it looks when he's excited.'  
TMFI! But, of course, they just had to relay every sordid little detail.  
Lydia looked completely unconcerned, and instead reached into the shelf to add a tub of egg-mayo sandwich-filler to the cart.  
'You are not serious, right?'  
'What?'  
'We've got eggs at home, remember? These oval thingies the chickens keep on laying?'  
'Yeah, but this is ready made. All you need to do is cook some bacon and you can have a nice egg-mayo-bacon sandwich.'  
'And what's so difficult with boiling eggs? Especially when you have to cook the bacon anyway?'  
'It's just more convenient, Lizzy. Gods you're so old-fashioned at times! Can we take some of these apples?'  
'No.'  
'Why not?'  
'Same reason as the eggs? We've got them bloody at home, Lydia.'  
'But they don't look as nice.'  
This was ridiculous. But sure, why not buy South African apples when one had an orchard at home with fruit so fresh that it actually tasted like something other than water?  
'Oh, and I just dash off quickly and get my necessities. Where will I find you?'  
'Not at all, I'm going into hiding.'  
'Why?'  
'I shot the sheriff.'  
'Very funny. Did you have a clown for break...'  
'That joke is old, Lydia.'  
'Oh, but it wasn't so old when _you_ said it to a certain someone last night, was it?'  
'That was something completely different. Go and get your stuff and let's be gone so we can pick up mum again.'  
Ten minutes later, Jane, Kitty and herself were standing near the tills and waited for Lydia, but as yet, she was nowhere to be seen - nor heard. Not a good sign. No good at all. From the time her youngest sister had been little, as long as she was heard it wasn't so bad, but unless she was actually sleeping, once she fell silent one knew serious trouble was brewing.  
'I'll go and look for her quickly,' Elizabeth sighed after almost five more minutes of waiting.  
There was a reason why she had opted against becoming a teacher. Kids were all nice and well, but to motivate them or make them do what they were supposed to was a pain in the arse.  
'Okay, then I go and pay for my half already and then come back to give you a hand with bagging your stuff. Come, Kitty,' Jane offered.

Good plan, actually.

Okay, Lydia must be somewhere. The cosmetics section, however, had been oddly devoid of Lydia. Had she gotten lost looking for them? Surely, Tesco's wasn't that big. Not the one in Meryton at any rate.  
Ah, there she was, with a shopping trolley all of her own packed to the brink. And all within a quarter of an hour. Wow! Perhaps she wasn't so lazy after all. At least not when it came to fulfilling her own wishes and desires.  
'Lydia, what the heck is all this stuff? You said _necessities_! In my world that is something you really _need_ , not all the random stuff you _want_ as you pass it in the shop. You've got what? A whole makeup kit, perfume, oh, and I know for a fact that this brand of shampoo costs over twenty Pounds each! And why the heck would you need three bloody bottles of it?'  
'They are different ones. I want to try them out, see which one's best for my hair type.'  
'You can forget about it unless you pay for them yourself.'  
'Oh, but I've only five Pounds left for this month, Lizzy. Please!'  
Fuck puppy face, at the moment she dearly longed to kick this one's bottom.  
'NO! And you can put that makeup and the perfume back as well. As said, necessities not luxuries. Bloody hell, I thought you would go and get tampons. But okay, euphemisms aren't exactly your thing, are they?'  
'But they are necessary for me to look _good_ , I mean, I can't go out without makeup, I would look horribly unkempt. I don't want to run around like you.'  
'Well, cheers. Do you really think that that'll now convince me to buy all this rubbish? Forget it!'  
'I could pay you back...' Lydia trailed off.  
Hello political career here comes Lydia Bennet and I'm a natural after all.  
'How about saving your money and then go and get it, when you can actually afford it? Or find a job?'  
'But that will take me forever, and as for working, I've got so little time to myself as it is.'  
'Correct, it would take you forever. Especially with the rate, you're spending your pocket money left right and centre. Though I don't actually agree with you having little time, but that's another matter.'  
'Well, you've got it easy, you've got dad's credit card.'  
'True. And do you know why that is? Because he can trust me not to spend more than is in our bloody account and only get those things we need.'  
'It's unfair.'  
'No one said life's fair. So, back with that stuff and off we go.'  
'You sound like a kindergarten teacher.'  
'Good, seeing that you behave like a petulant kindergarten child, so it's befitting, don't you agree?'  
'I'll tell mum.'  
'You're not making things any better or convince me that you are any older than four, at most.'  
In the end, Lydia just left her trolley standing in the middle of the market. Of course. She never tidied her stuff away at home, why would she start here of all places?

Ten minutes later...

'Lizzy, what are euphemisms?' Lydia inquired all of a sudden.  
Unfortunately, it was not a good idea to bury one's face in one's hands while driving and to slam down one's head repeatedly against the steering wheel in sheer exasperation wasn't either. What if someone got irritated by all the honking?

iAttributed to Albert Einstein (minus Lydia's laziness, of course) 


	12. Chapter 12 - Idiot that I am

_Chapter 12:_

 _Idiot that I am_

'Ah, there are the masters of porn!' someone shouted as they entered the pub for a pint.  
'Need a ciggy after all the sex you've had?'  
'Na, they only rent out the house to them, they don't shag'em themselves. Must be frustrating to watch all the others getting it on and you just have to stand by, what Mr Bingley? How's your wrist?'  
Laughter erupted at that and some more speculation followed, though the men quickly just kept it amongst themselves.

Of course, it was always more interesting to speculate without the danger of having to deal with facts or learning the truth even...  
Neither he nor Bingley said anything when they went over to the bar to get their beer and then sat down in the far corner.  
'Well, it could have been worse, I suppose,' Bingley sighed, though his expression clearly showed that in his opinion this had been pretty much a worst-case scenario.  
Darcy could only agree. This was as bad it could get, surely. He felt incredibly wretched. It was not just the bawdy comments that now followed them wherever they went, it was more the question of how would he ever live down Elizabeth Bennet's inquisitive glance when she'd left Netherfield that afternoon.

But the consequences, of course, could turn out to be more serious than that. Not only had Bingley barely established himself here, no, already his friend's reputation had gone down the drain. Not a good thing when one was new to an area and intended to do business there. And all thanks to Caroline!  
Why, oh why, could not all women be like Elizabeth Bennet? Kind, caring, witty, intelligent, pretty, practical...- She had reacted quickly and with that presumably helped to avoid the whole stables going up in smoke.

No, not that he really thought her actions to be very sensible. Running into a burning building never was. And yet, he was thankful to her. Actually, he would have liked to thank her, but by the time Bingley had informed him of what she had done she and her family had gone. Perhaps that was for the better. He was not sure how he could have faced her after his pathetic attempt at explaining the situation. If he was not mistaken, he had made matters much worse with it instead of helping his friend.  
'You know, mate, I've tried to get rid of Monty and his crew after the fire-incident, but unfortunately the actual contract has pretty much everything covered,' Bingley sighed again, running his hands through his hair and making it look fashionably dishevelled without intending to.  
Great! Another hope destroyed...

As horrible as Monty Howard seemed to be in organising his people, as good he apparently was with writing contracts. Though, of course, there were lawyers one could hire, and he had obviously found a very good one.

They had also quickly discovered that all they needed to do was put the fuse back in to have electricity and with that, the filming had carried on merrily.  
Getting up to get both of them another pint, Darcy was sure to hear more snickers everywhere around him. But what had he expected? In a town as small as Meryton news of this kind travelled fast and were long-lived and while there was nothing new to talk about, people would make the most of what they had at hand. Lambton was no different.  
Right at this point, it would have been much more comfortable if they had been approached by the one or other of the customers at the inn and been made fun of openly again, but no-one dared do it and instead they now continued to laugh behind their backs. Well, it came with being new to the area. Still, not a good feeling at all.  
How on earth had he come to this point in his life? A week ago everything had been nice and well, everything ordered and running perfectly smoothly. And now?

He and his best friend had been made a laughing stock, he was in danger of turning into a drunkard if he carried on like this and on top of that he was slowly but surely falling in love.

Never in his life had he been as bewitched by any woman as he was with Elizabeth Bennet and he had only known her for a couple of days, so that was quite scary. And the more he knew of her, the more he felt his heart slip away from him. With the bravery she'd shown today, how could it be otherwise?

Okay, at first he had been angry with her for putting herself in danger, but then he had felt immensely proud. God, what a woman! How could he _not_ love her?  
There was just one thing he could not make out, and that was why she had been laughing. Had she been laughing at him or the situation? He hoped it was the latter, for, later on, she had looked at him with something that might have been compassion and understanding. Could she possibly know that he and Bingley had nothing to do with that blasted contract?  
Once more he was acutely aware of his own social awkwardness. For Bingley it was easy. He was an extrovert, while he was definitely not. At the moment his friend might be fairly cast down thinking that Jane Bennet would surely never speak to him again after the afternoons débâcle, but what Darcy had seen had been a young woman willing to forgive his friend with all her heart, ready to give him a second chance. Truth be told, he envied Bingley for that.  
As if his thoughts had suddenly conjured up the two women of whom he had been thinking, Jane Bennet and her sister stepped into the pub looking around themselves as if they were looking for someone, and when they spotted them sitting in the corner it was clear whom they had been looking for. - Bingley.  
Well, they had said they'd come over for a chat, and when he and Bingley had left for the pub, his friend had sent Jane a text. And here they were now.  
While Elizabeth walked over to the bar and soon got involved in a conversation with an annoyingly good-looking man, Jane immediately came over to them.  
'Hi, Charles,' Jane smiled tentatively but sat down at their table nonetheless. 'As we've said, we thought we'd drop by for a chat. You seemed fairly disturbed earlier on.'  
'I was, admittedly. I had somehow hoped to keep my dark secret from you,' Bingley smiled in a way that was bound to make any woman melt in all its bloody darn innocence.  
Heck, he had really perfected this puppy-look. Lydia Bennet, in comparison, was still in desperate need of practice. Not that Bingley used it purposely to his advantage, it was just how he was, a little puppy eager to please and be loved.  
'Well, perhaps it would have been better, had you told me.'  
'Perhaps. But I didn't know how. I only found out about it when I came home from the Harvest Ball, myself. I accidentally signed this contract amongst a stack of others and didn't really pay attention. You must think me a right twat.'  
One thing Darcy had to say, his friend had integrity. Even towards someone as undeserving as his sister.  
'Oh, don't worry. Sometimes these things just happen,' Jane's smile had deepened, even turned somewhat cheeky, which made her look quite a lot like her sister. 'You know, I once managed to click on the wrong button on the internet, when I actually wanted to close the pop-up window and accidentally ordered a sub for a porn site. Not much better, is it?'  
Bless that girl! Though Darcy wasn't sure if she told the truth, it was enough to set Bingley at ease and that was all that mattered. When he saw that their hands reached for each other on the table, Darcy knew it was time to get up.  
He had felt awkward before, but being a spare tyre topped pretty much everything in regards to awkwardness. And Elizabeth did not seem in the mood to join them to make a fourth. What time was it anyway? Good, early enough to still call his sister.

Bringing back his glass he steered towards the exit and sat down on an old stepping stone that he knew must once have been used by people getting in and out of the old post-coaches without getting their feet dirty. Sometimes it was amazing what was still left of the past in small towns like Meryton and Lambton.

He much preferred it to the almost sterile streets of London, not that London wasn't full of history, too, but it was different nonetheless. Actually, the old assembly rooms had been in pretty good condition as well, now that he thought about it. And looking up at the façade of the pub, it was easy to imagine what it must have been like when it had still been a coaching inn two centuries ago.

Taking out his mobile he went on speed dial. Of course, his sister, his closest relation in the world, was right there at the top.  
'Hey, Georgie, how are you?'  
'I'm great, but I miss being home...' Georgiana sighed.  
She did not much like going to boarding school, but what was he to do?  
'I know, sweety. But hey, you've only returned four weeks ago and soon it's holidays again.'  
'The first couple of weeks are always the worst,' she really sounded cast down.  
If only he were not a bachelor...

But he had so much on his hands already. Oh, fuck all these stupid excuses! No, he was making this too easy for himself.  
Initially, Darcy had thought that sending Georgiana to boarding school would be beneficial for her. Instead, it had turned into a nightmare. She was shy, quiet and to top it all, very intelligent, not a good mix when hundreds of adolescent girls were basically locked up together. The inevitable had happened and she had been severely mobbed all throughout the last year and by the sounds of it, this term was not much better. Not that she would say so openly in order not to worry him. But he knew her and he could read between the lines, at least when it came to his sister.  
'Georgie, do you want to come home?'  
'You know I do, Will. But, don't worry, I, in turn, know that I have to go to school and that this is the best for me.'  
'Not if you are unhappy. I will sort something out, I promise.'  
'Don't you always?' he could literally hear her smile at his declarations. 'But I don't want to be any trouble, brother. You've done so much for me already, and I feel so ungrateful...'  
'Oh, come now, that is nonsense!'  
She only huffed in reply and then changed the subject.  
'How are things going in Hertfordshire? You sounded slightly tense earlier on. Has something happened? By the way, have you bought the horse?'  
'I did. He's not broken in properly yet, but I'm getting there. I bought another horse as well. It was to be put down because it had a shortened tendon after a show jumping accident. I know it is silly, but I couldn't let that happen. She's only twelve years old, though very quiet from all the pain-killers I have to feed her. And yet, I thought it downright wrong to just discard of an otherwise perfectly good horse only because it can't be used for sports any longer.'  
'Will, I could hug you!'  
'Ah, at least one girl who does!'

Why on earth had he said that?  
'One day you will find the perfect girl for you, Will. I'm absolutely sure of that. I don't know anybody more deserving to be happy than you.'  
Bloody hell, how had they gotten to _that_ subject?  
'One that will see you for the great guy that you are and not for your money,' she carried on much to his embarrassment. 'You know, you are the best brother I could possibly wish for, and I have no doubt you will be just as good a husband and dad one day. I really envy the woman you will marry, for I will have to make do with second best. Not that I would want to marry my brother...- Ew, that's gross actually, just thinking about it, but...'  
In his mind he could see her face screw up, her nose wrinkled, eyes pressed shut and her tongue sticking out. When she made that face she still looked like the little girl faced with the abominable challenge to eat up her broccoli.  
'Stop, Georgie, if you inflate my ego any more I'm going to burst at the seams.'  
'Yeah, or the plug pops out.'  
'Exactly,' he laughed. 'And besides, I have found the perfect girl for me. It's just that... - Well, you know me. I'm an awkward sod at the best of times.'  
'But Will, that is great! What's her name?'  
Looking around himself he made sure no-one was overhearing them.  
'Elizabeth. Her name is Elizabeth. I only met her a couple of days ago, but though I've never believed in love at first sight, I think I might have to revise my opinion there. She is... - I don't even know where to start to describe her.'  
'She's not one of those stuck up bitches you usually bring home, is she?'  
Oops, he had forgotten how blunt his sister could be with him on occasion.  
'Well, they usually bring _me_ home, Georgie and that is my very problem. I have no clue how to approach her. I mean we get along well enough, but...- Sorry, I shouldn't dump this on you. It's not fair to burden you with my petty little problems.'  
'Hey, you're my brother.'  
'Your _big_ brother, Georgie. By twelve years, no less.'  
'Yes. And? Oh, shite!'  
'What is it?'  
'Curfew. I need to hang up in a couple of minutes and get ready for bed. Will, will you call again sometime this week? Then we can speak about your problem. I actually don't think it really is one. You are such a good man, really what is there not to love? If she is in any way intelligent, she must see that and if not, she isn't worth it. Full stop!'  
'She is extremely intelligent. Kind, witty, caring, beautiful and brave. - And she's currently running her father's farm.'  
'That indeed sounds pretty perfect to me. You really are in deep, aren't you?'  
'Yep. And as said, I've only just met her a couple of days ago. But as it is, I already managed to insult her the first time we met, I think. She didn't say so, but I could see it in her face that she was quite offended.'  
'How on earth did you do that?'  
'Well, little sister, I went to that party Bingley insisted on attending and Caroline had driven me insane all evening long, clinging to my arm like you wouldn't believe. You know how she can be. And I just needed a couple of minutes to myself. And that was exactly when Elizabeth approached me and asked me to dance...'  
'Oh dear! You didn't snap at her, did you?'  
Now even his sister sounded exasperated with him. Fantastic!  
'What do you think? Of course, I did. Idiot that I am.'  
'Oh, Will!'

He could literally see her in front of his eyes, as she buried her face in her hands.  
'At the time I didn't really care, truth be told. But the more I see of her, the more I fall for her. I've never felt this lost. I really am a fool in love, Georgie. You asked earlier how things are going here in Hertfordshire, well, chaotic sums it up pretty well...'  
'Lights out! Bedtime!' a harsh voice sounded through the telephone and before he knew it, the line was dead.  
He really needed to do something about Georgiana's situation.  
Staring at his phone he was not quite sure whether he should go back inside or simply wait out here. A slight drizzle setting in made the decision for him.

He had not closed the door when his eyes were already back on Elizabeth. She was still standing at the bar, talking to the same guy and was only looking up shortly to see him enter, an eyebrow arched challengingly. Damn, that guy really was bloody handsome and charming. What chance did he have there? It was very obvious that Elizabeth liked his company and to see her actually flirt with him, though he doubted that she was even aware of it, was making him want to throw up as his insides churned. Or alternatively beat the crap out of that fellow. Neither would do, he supposed.  
Seeing that Bingley still sat comfortably together with Jane he decided to call it a day and walk home. At least Monty had been considerate enough to have someone change the sheets on his bed, though he still wasn't sure whether he really ever wanted to sleep in it ever again.  
The image of the naked woman in it earlier on popped up in his mind and slowly but surely turned into Elizabeth Bennet.

Oh no, he would not go there! No fucking way! Shit, too late...- How was he supposed to sleep after that now? Be it in his bed or on the sofa in the breakfast room. It would be a long hard night for him, that much was certain, but never mind.


	13. Chapter 13 - Lieutenant Wickham

_Chapter 13:_

 _Lieutenant Wickham_

'So, Jane, I take it everything is sorted?' Elizabeth asked her sister on their way home from the pub, grinning widely. 'At least your dear Charles looked happy enough again.'  
She could not help poking a bit of fun at her sister. But Jane actually looked perfectly content, and when they had parted from Bingley he too had appeared cheerful again, ready to face the world despite everything that had come to pass.

Hm, as long as Jane was by his side, it seemed, he thought himself invincible. Ah well, every knight in shining armour needed his lady by his side.  
'Oh, Lizzy, he isn't my Charles, you know,' Jane sighed and Elizabeth was sure that her sister was blushing, though it was too dark to see it. 'But it is. You know, he confessed that he was tricked into this. By his sister! Can you believe it?'  
'Oh, I very well can. My opinion of her is somewhere down there,' Elizabeth pointed at the ground with one hand while pushing her bike with the other.  
'I don't think she meant any trouble, Lizzy. Perhaps she had a very good reason to do what she has done. Maybe she didn't know either what kind of film they were making.'  
'Yeah, maybe,' she replied, though Elizabeth was far from convinced.  
If that was the case, why would she need to trick her brother into it? The only reason Caroline Bingley had for that was if she did know very well about the company producing porn and was acutely aware that her brother would never have given his consent to film on his property. And that that woman was well capable of such deceit she was pretty sure of. This was not a simple prank amongst siblings. She had heard the people talk around her, even though admittedly she had become distracted pretty quickly. The gossip had been quite vile and it would take some time for Bingley to re-establish himself when he had only just begun to do so in the first place. So not good!  
'You seemed to have had a nice evening yourself, Lizzy,' Jane carried on with a small smile, interrupting her thoughts. 'Who was that guy you were talking to. I don't think I have ever seen him before.'  
'George Wickham is his name. He's a lieutenant and has just been stationed at the base. Well, more precisely he is currently still on leave and moving over from Wiltshire.'  
'He looked pleasant.'  
'Yeah, and he is really funny and easy to talk to. I mean, it was not as if we talked about any serious topics, but with him, it is even fun to speak about something as boring as the weather. Drizzle seemed to be his favourite subject. - So you see, he is the perfect man. Good looking, unreserved, lively, charming, clever, polite... - unlike other certain men of our acquaintance. And, he can make the weather sound interesting. That is quite something.'  
Elizabeth rolled her eyes, though she doubted that Jane would see it in the semi-darkness.  
'Hm,' was all Jane's thoughtful reply.  
Looking inquisitively at her sister Elizabeth wondered what went through her mind at present, but her normally so expressive face was all blank and she could make nothing of it in the dim light of the street lamps.  
'What is it?'  
'Nothing Lizzy, it is just that I went outside for a breath of fresh air earlier on when Charles got new drinks for us and...- It's just something I overheard that I shouldn't have, that's all.'  
'You mean shortly before Mr Darcy came back in and looked as if he was ready to start a fight?'  
'Yes,' Jane replied softly, not meeting her eyes.  
'Well, what was it?' Elizabeth dug deeper getting more and more curious due to her sister's odd behaviour.  
Never had she seen Jane this bewildered, not even this afternoon at Netherfield.  
'I can't tell you, Lizzy. It is private and I feel horrible for having lingered outside when I realised what he spoke about. I should have gone straight back in.'  
'He? Who? Mr Darcy?'  
'Yes, Mr Darcy.'  
'And he said something that has you _this_ disturbed?'  
'Not disturbed, Lizzy. But... - Oh, I don't know what to call it. As I've said, it's a private matter anyway. He was on the phone with his sister. And then I remembered something Charles said earlier, and it suddenly all came together. Shock is perhaps the best way to put it how I feel. Not in a bad way, though, mind.'  
'Was it about their parents? Jane, I know they have both died, and I do actually feel very sorry about that for him and his sister. As far as I understood it, she's still quite young and under his care. It is quite some responsibility for such a young man, don't you think? Good God, has something happened to her?'  
'No, that I didn't know. That his parents have died, I mean. And no, it was not about his sister, but himself. It is just that he's... - Oh, stop pestering me, Lizzy!'  
Now Jane looked seriously upset and despite her pleas to stop Elizabeth was greatly tempted to dig deeper. But in the end, she couldn't bring herself to do it. It wouldn't have been fair and Jane definitely deserved better treatment. She'd had enough excitement for the day anyway, so, though burning with curiosity, Elizabeth changed the subject.  
'And, are you looking forward to going back to work next week?'  
Okay, perhaps considering her heart was now lost here, that was a fairly stupid strategy. Then again, it was not as if London was more than an hour from Netherfield and that was calculating the traffic already, or that Mr Bingley did not stay in London a great deal himself. And surely, as soon as Jane was there, he would frequently go over.  
'Yes, I actually do. I've missed my work; the feeling I'm doing good. And at the same time, I regret leaving you behind. You've got so much on your shoulders, it's not exactly fair to dump it all on you.'  
'Oh, never mind, I'm perfectly fine. And besides, it is getting quieter now, this time of year. It's only a bit of ploughing to get a head start next year and then, after that it is only the animals I have to take care of so I can get back to concentrate on my studies and catch up with them as well so I won't forget everything I've learned. At least Mama is taking care of the garden, and once in a while Kitty helps around the house.'  
'Oh, Lizzy, come on, when have you ever forgotten anything? For you learning comes easy, but perhaps you will get distracted by Lieutenant Wickham?'  
'Hm, perhaps,' Elizabeth smirked.  
For some reason, however, it was not his image that popped up in her mind, but that of Mr Darcy. Damn the man!

What was it with him that she could never spend a day without thinking about him at least ten times? He was like a summer-cold, very hard to shake off and just as vexing.  
Feeling her sister's gaze on her she suddenly felt under scrutiny.  
'You know, Lizzy, you should listen to your heart once in a while,' Jane startled her. 'Sometimes you are a bit head-heavy.'  
'Well, you know, the heart is a treacherous thing, while the brain at least has got the facts right.'  
'Not always, and you know that. Over-thinking everything can be a hindrance when it comes to happiness, and the brain can be deceived.'  
'As can the heart, Jane.'  
Once again her sister fell silent. Why did she have a feeling she was missing something? Well, presumably because she was, but what it might be, was beyond her. Jane never spoke in riddles, why did she have to start to turn into the Oracle of Delphi now?  
'Are you coming with me to karaoke night on Wednesday?' Elizabeth, at last, asked, unable to bear the silence any longer and remembering the sign atop the bar. 'You can, of course, bring Charles along.'  
'Are you going to sing?'  
'Well, yes, I suppose. That's kind of the point of going to karaoke night. And since Sharon broke her hand, we haven't had much practice and this is a good start to get going again. Not that I had much time for the band lately, but I do miss it. Even though I'm not even a regular member anymore. A bit of distraction and fun never goes amiss, does it?'  
'No, certainly not. And if you sing, you can be sure that I'll be there, Lizzy. Any idea what you might sing?'  
'I think I'll go with one of the classics. "Love Hurts" is always a good choice as is "Hedonism" or "Love is a battlefield".'  
'Oh dear, you are really not one for actual love songs, are you?'  
'Nope. You know I'm a realist.'  
'Lizzy, please!' Jane laughed, but there was still this odd and rather serious undertone.  
'Yes, yes, yes, I will listen to my heart, promise. Hey, another classic! I haven't listened to Roxette in ages. I would actually sing "You can leave your hat on", but after I heard from Lottie that Penny dropped his pants to that song during the Harvest Ball I am slightly scared of any unwanted reactions from the one or other member of the public...'  
At last Jane was laughing unabashedly: 'Oh dear! Really?'  
'Yeah. I have to admit that I'm not entirely sure whether I am disappointed not have seen it or relieved. I mean, it is Penny we're talking about.'  
'He doesn't exactly have a bad figure. I mean he does yoga pretty much every day, as he's told me.'  
'No, perhaps not. Still, he ranks very high on my list of people I _never_ want to see in the nude.'  
'Who else is on that list?'  
'Hm, let me see...- Mr Bingley, of course, for obvious reasons, Colonel Lucas, well, Papa, when it comes to stripping at least. I mean we've all seen dad without clothes at one point or another, but that is different, it doesn't have anything sexual when you see him hose himself down in the farmyard after repairing the drain to the cesspit, is it?'  
'No, definitely not. What about Lieutenant Wickham?'  
'Oh, him I wouldn't actually mind stepping out of his uniform. Once he wears it again, that is.'  
'And Mr Darcy?'  
'Well...'  
Oh shit, what was she supposed to answer to that?

For once Jane had her successfully cornered. He most certainly was extremely handsome, perhaps even more so than Wickham. His features were stronger and more defined and while his eyes had a rather dull grey colour, other than the lieutenant's startling blue ones, they were beautiful with the depth they held, and from what she could see from him wearing his riding clothes, his body was presumably some sight to behold...  
'Okay, I'll take that as an answer,' Jane said in a matter of fact tone.  
'Wait, what? A positive or negative one?'  
'A positive one, of course.'  
'Jane!'  
Oh, thank goodness, there was Longbourn at last! Home! Refuge!

With the excuse of being tired, even though Elizabeth felt anything but, she almost ran up the stairs and to her room. For the first time in her life, she avoided Jane and that in her present state of utter confusion she decidedly needed to avoid her mother was a matter of course.  
The roughly three miles back home had sent her mind reeling to a point where she felt almost sick. Bloody fantastic! If only she could put a finger on what had her so upset, it wouldn't be so very bad. But she couldn't.  
Well, if she were honest, she could, but no, she didn't want to think about it. It was crazy! She could not possibly be falling in love with Mr Darcy, could she?

Again she tried to conjure up Lieutenant Wickham's face, but once more without any success. He was pleasant and amusing, and yet, there was nothing distinctive about him that was really memorable. With Darcy it was different. If she could draw beyond the point of a scribble, she could easily draw him from her memory alone, so present was he in her mind. She liked his dry sense of humour. His sarcasm was hilarious. And on top of that, it felt as if she had known him forever. They had much in common as well, other than Wickham and her. It had been interesting to listen to his interests, but none had really coincided with hers. Yeah, Darcy was rude on occasion, but still...  
Shit! Shit, no! No, no, no!


	14. Chapter 14 - Preparing for battle

_Chapter 14:_

 _Preparing for battle_

The last two days, Elizabeth had avoided Jane as much as she possibly could and fortunately the weather had been fine enough for her to plough the fields. Something she had actually only planned for the beginning of October.

But there she had taken the Mickey out of Jane, well, at least in her own mind, for Jane didn't deserve being made fun of face on good as she was, and she was not one bit better. No, actually, she was worse. By far.  
'Lizzy, are you avoiding me?' Jane asked as she got off the tractor.  
Her sister looked saddened somehow, and Elizabeth immediately felt guilty.  
'No, not really. I was just pondering on what you said the other day and...'  
'You were avoiding me. Lizzy, it's alright. We all need time to ourselves once in a while. I was just wondering if you are upset with me,' Jane, as always was understanding and her smile was a warm one.  
'No, I'm not with you, I'm upset with myself. This listening to one's heart thing is more tedious than I would have thought. It just doesn't want to pay attention to what my brain says.'  
'That, Lizzy, is the whole point.'  
Well, be as it may, she didn't like it. It was stupid if it meant her heart ached when before it had not. When before she had been perfectly able to enjoy a little flirting with a handsome officer from the base and now all she wanted was to snuggle up in Fitzwilliam Darcy's arms. Heck that sounded cheesy! What was she? A silly teenager desperately in love with her balding teacher? Nope, definitely not the former, and the balding teacher was also a decided no. But desperately in love, unfortunately, wasn't.  
'And what if I told you that I actually fancied Penny?' Elizabeth tried to laugh off her own silliness.  
'Lizzy, come now, be serious.'  
Okay, she had been caught lying.  
'Ha, you don't think I'm serious? Well, you are bloody well right, I'm not. Eww! Now I will have to banish that thought from my mind again. Yeah well, how was that? Die Geister die ich rief werd' ich nun nicht los?i - I think that's pretty much all that stuck from the three years learning German at school but it's spot on right now. Actually, no idea what possessed me to learn that blasted language in the first place, it's the most tedious language I've ever come across.'  
'How about Chinese?'  
'Okay, aside from Chinese.'  
'Russian?'  
'Yeah, alright, I get it. I'm over-dramatising things. And before you ask, French isn't for me either. I think I can safely say that any foreign language isn't for me. I'm just untalented when it comes to learning another language. Give me genetics or evolution any day, and I'm fine.'  
'That sounds more like the Lizzy I know. Good! Though perhaps French isn't so bad, Lizzy... Perhaps you might want to try it someday and come to like it. It's all a matter of tongue-agility, so to say. Tu sais, cette pronociation est sacrément importantii.'  
Good Lord! Had her sister just insinuated what she thought she had? Jane had had French at school and seriously, Elizabeth hadn't the foggiest what she had just said in her last sentence, but never mind, perhaps it was better that way. It had sounded pretty darn naughty with the way she had said it. And when had Jane of all people learned to look this sneaky? Suddenly she was not quite sure about Bingley's influence on her.

No, not really, but what the deuce?  
'So, are you looking forward to tonight?' Jane carried on as if she had not just basically said she should try and give a man a blow-job or something along those lines.  
Pushing the images that had popped up in her mind far to the back of it Elizabeth once again made an attempt to laugh it off, but it was increasingly difficult: 'Yes. I'm sick and tired of my own company. It isn't a very good one either. Far too critical and sarcastic. And I do get the feeling it has a bad influence on me.'  
'Lizzy!'  
Well, at least Jane laughed, that was something.  
'What? It's the sad truth, I'm afraid. My own company is driving me to the brink of insanity and that has to say something considering that Kitty and Lydia are my sisters.'  
'They admittedly can be a challenge. So, it's ten to four now, what do you say, we'll milk the cows, have some tea and then get ready?'  
'What? Already? Isn't it a bit early?'  
'Let's be girlie today and try out various outfits and hairstyles and perhaps we can even figure out what Kitty and Lydia find so fascinating about it.'  
'Fat chance, Jane, that will always stay a mystery and perhaps all for the better. But okay, let's try. I don't think the cows will mind us calling it a day two hours early. To get the chickens in will be another matter, but I like a good wild chicken-chase once in a while.'

An hour and a half later they were both cooped up in Jane's room, just as she had suggested. They both had showered and Jane had insisted on doing her sister's nails.  
'No red or hot pink!'  
'Of course not! Let's see... - French?'  
Again? Bloody hell Jane! Was this turning into an obsession? Okay, perhaps not. Not after two minor/major insinuations, but she would keep an eye on it.  
'I already told you I don't do languages.'  
'Very funny. I meant your fingernails, dummy.'  
'Yeah, I know, but I had hoped to get out of it. You know, come tomorrow and all your hard work will be screwed up again.'  
'And? Perhaps Lieutenant Wickham's there...' there it was _again_ , and Jane's tease most decidedly contained a serious undertone as if she was not approving of Wickham at all.  
Well, perhaps Mr Darcy was there, too, which was much more likely since Bingley was coming along with Jane and he hardly ever went anywhere without his friend. Well, Darcy was only here for a week, so presumably, that was only polite.

The thought of him leaving was, on one hand, consoling. If she wasn't in constant danger of running into him, she had a good chance of at last forgetting him. On the other, he would take her heart with him, that she now knew. Suddenly she felt like crying. Splendid! Just what one needed on a night out. And she hadn't even the excuse of suffering from PMS, and still, her emotions went haywire.  
She never felt nervous when singing, but thinking that Mr Darcy might be there made her stomach flutter. Gods, what if she made a fool of herself?  
'What about your own nails?'  
'Hm, I think I first decide on a dress and then decide which colour goes with it. I would take a French manicure myself, but I never manage my right hand. It's too fiddly.'  
'I fear I'm not much help in that quarter. But I can put on a coat of plain polish and smear it neatly all across your phalanges if you like.'  
Jane once again chuckled and carried on with her work and a quarter of an hour later she was done. Well, it had taken long enough for Elizabeth's taste. Was there anything more annoying than to hold one's fingers still for that long? Who had time for that? This clearly wasn't for her.

So, as yet she was no closer to discovering what Kitty and Lydia found so fascinating about cosmetics, and fashion in general.  
'Here, why don't you try this one on?'

Jane had rummaged through her wardrobe and now held up a little black affair. Simple, cute, _tight_.  
'It's a dress, Jane. Aside from the Harvest Ball, Christmas and weddings, I don't do dresses.'  
'You should, Lizzy. Come, humour me and try it on. I've worn it once, but it is slightly too short for me. So it should fit you perfectly.'  
'If I can squeeze my butt in, that is.'  
'Your boobs are bigger as well, but it's stretch, darling.'  
With a sigh, Elizabeth resigned herself to her fate and put on the little black dress her sister had given her. She could see that Jane was determined for her to wear it, for whatever sinister reason. Okay, Jane's reasons were never sinister, but "benevolent" reason sounded far too harmless in this instance.  
However, the dress did fit. Perfectly even. Fuck! There was not the slightest reason to argue about it other than that she looked and felt decidedly too sexy for her own taste. Knowing Jane, that wouldn't be good enough. If anything, it was presumably exactly what her sister had wanted her to be. Sexy. At least it wasn't mini-mini.  
'But I'm not wearing heels!' Elizabeth instead protested.  
'No, they would be slightly too much, I agree.'  
'Aside from that, I also can't walk in those things.'  
' With a little practice it's actually fairly easy.'  
'For you, Jane. You have grace and elegance, all I have is "and".'  
'You are not leaving your hair in a ponytail, are you?'  
'Why not?'  
'Because I say so. It looks much better open. You've got such beautiful hair, Lizzy. I actually quite envy you.'  
'What? You're not serious, are you? You know, you start to scare me. What have you done to my sister Jane and who the hell are you? You look like her, your voice sounds like her, but...'  
'Oh, come now, Lizzy, stop whining. It doesn't suit you.'  
'What's with we're trying out different looks?'

'Okay, I admit it, I was lying because I very well know that if I left you a choice you would be back in your favourite denim in no time.'  
'Yep.'  
'And I want to show off, how beautiful my sister is. Call me selfish, but that's the truth. Lizzy, you _are_ beautiful, whatever you might say. I can think of at least one man who would agree with me wholeheartedly.'  
'Who would that be then? And how would you know?'  
'Oh, never mind. I was rambling...' Jane trailed off, avoiding her gaze.  
'Jane, who are you trying to hitch me up with?'  
'I don't try to _hitch_ you up, Lizzy. I have no intention to meddle in your affairs - no pun intended. I just don't want you to miss out on anything either, just because you are too pigheaded to just let it go once in a while, okay?'  
' _Who_ is the man?'  
'I just told you I don't meddle. I should have kept my mouth shut, I know. It just slipped, accidentally.'  
Jane shrugged her shoulders while slipping into a light blue dress which hugged her curves so perfectly it looked as if it had been made for her. Well, okay, perhaps it had. Jane herself could easily have made it from scratch, just like their Regency gowns. She was really good friends with her sewing machine.  
'So, what do you say, aren't we a fine pair of ladies?'  
'Speak for yourself, Jane, deep down I will always be a country bumpkin. You don't think wellies go with this, do you?'  
'No. Here, put on your ballerina's.'

They stepped out of Jane's room only to be met by a thunderous looking Lydia.  
'I want to go, too!' Lydia wailed as soon as she caught sight of them, stomping her foot like a petulant toddler. 'And Kitty as well. Why can't we come?'  
Of course! The usual scenario. What had she thought? That she could escape this?  
'Because you've got school tomorrow,' Elizabeth replied archly.  
'But I want to have some fun, too, It's not fair!'  
'Do you really think we were allowed out on a school night?' Jane tried to console her.  
'Seriously, I don't give a fuck what you were allowed back then. I want to come! And besides, I have two older sister's who can look after me, as they bloody well ought.'  
Yeah, of course, because older sisters were not allowed their share of fun, were they?  
'Lydia, it'll get too late,' Elizabeth tried her luck.  
'Hey, someone could bring Kitty and me home at around nine and then we'll be in bed same time as always. I don't understand what the fuss is all about.'  
'No!'  
'Lyddy, Charles is picking us up and you can hardly expect him to drive you home.'  
'Why not? I mean he's your boyfriend, so he's practically family.'  
Fortunately, they were saved from replying by the ring on the door, indicating that Bingley had arrived. And not a moment too soon.  
'See you later, Lydia. Good night, Kitty,' Elizabeth waved and quickly reached for her jacket and handbag.  
'Bitches!' their youngest sister spat, stomping up the stairs.  
'Lydia!' Jane admonished before opening the door at last.  
At the sight of Jane, Bingley's eyes widened in surprise and his jaw dropped.  
'Wow! You look fantastic, Jane.'  
'Thank you, Charles. You don't look bad at all either. I like the combination of Jeans and dress shirt, it looks really good on you actually.'  
Bingley beamed at the compliment, while at the same time he managed to look bashful. Elizabeth could hardly help to grin. It was actually too cute to see a grown man like this. Like a little boy in a candy shop who was told he can choose whatever he liked. Eager, and yet slightly unsure how to take the offer.  
As she had expected, Darcy was waiting in the car. Well, he was actually their designated driver, obviously having drawn the short straw.  
If Jane thought Bingley looked handsome, Darcy, in her opinion, looked drop-dead gorgeous, pulling off the combination of informal jeans and formal shirt so much better than his friend, and the waistcoat he had donned over it, gave the whole ensemble the certain something that was bound to make the ladies goggle at him all night long. Well, at least until he opened his mouth and managed to say something not so very polite, and knowing him by now, that was fairly likely.

No, actually, how could she even begin to assume she knew him? It was a bit forward, wasn't it? Not even a week and already he was turning her whole world upside down.  
'You go in at the front, Lizzy, I'm perfectly happy to sit in the back,' Jane offered with a smile in her boyfriend's direction.  
Okay, that, too was presumably a little forward, but the sooner or later it would be inevitable. It was obvious that those two belonged together. Even a blind man could see that.  
'Hi. Oh! - You look... - very nice,' Darcy stammered, shortly looking at her before quickly concentrating on the dashboard again, making her suddenly feel like an ugly duckling.  
At least he had attempted to be polite, that was something.

But his hesitation in paying her a compliment did kind of hurt. Well, what had she been thinking? That he suddenly found her attractive? Surely not. They got along fairly well, but presumably only because they had to somehow. It would be kind of weird if they always fought when her sister and his friend were clearly in love with each other. They were bound to meet occasionally, like now. So, better to get along. But perhaps Lydia had a point when she had said that she wasn't taking much care oof her appearance lately. She did look like a scarecrow most of the time with all the elegance of a bull in a china shop.  
'We're all settled, Darcy,' Bingley announced happily, slamming the door shut.  
In the rear-view mirror, Elizabeth could see the two lovebirds comfortably leaning into each other as if it was the most natural thing in the world. Okay, it was. Full-stop. For them at any rate.  
Yeah, tonight it would be "Love Hurts", for her. Fuck "listen to your heart", it was a stupid thing to do. She knew that now.

But never mind! What had been done was done, even when it did little good.

i

 _Johann Wolfgang von Goethe_ : Der Zauberlehrling. 

ii

Roughly translates into 'You know, the pronounciation is very important.' 


	15. Chapter 15 - Cringe-worthy

_Chapter 15:_

 _Cringe-worthy_

'Are you ready, Darcy?' Bingley inquired, bobbing up and down on his feet as if he wore a pair of those silly kangaroo-shoes.  
Up, down, up, down...  
'Charles, it's just about half past, we've got plenty of time. What's all the fuss about anyway? It's karaoke night, not the Grand Prix d'Eurovison a la chanson. You'll do fine.'  
'You don't think "listen to your heart" is a bit too obvious?'  
'It's a classic, though, yeah, it is obvious. Not the lyrics, but your exuberant expression whenever Jane Bennet is near.'  
'Oh come now, she's an angel!'  
'She smiles too much. But what do I care? She's your girlfriend, not mine,' Darcy grinned lopsidedly.  
Ah, it was fun poking his friend once in a while.  
'We're not officially together yet, but okay, I really like her and I think she likes me, too,' Bingley admitted openly. 'And we have much in common. The more I know of her, the more I find that we would fit together perfectly. However, enough of me, what would really interest me at this point is, what you would look for in a woman. So, Jane smiles too much, my sister is too artificial and conniving, though I can't but agree there. So, on to your ex-girlfriends: Christina had been too dour and disinterested in your work, to say the least, Daphne was too arrogant and only keen on fashion and spending money, yours mainly, Pauline on the other hand was too lazy and dumb and...- Shit, what was her name again?'  
'That was it, Bingley,' Darcy sighed, realising that once more he was on the receiving end when he had just thought that he would make sport of his friend. 'Julia is a friend from uni and she's first of all gay, which is why we get along so well, and secondly not my type, and Anne is my cousin.'  
'Well, cousins are allowed to marry, you know?'  
'This is the twenty-first century, Bingley, does anybody really still do that?'  
Thinking of Anne in this way was more than just slightly disturbing. She was alright, but only as a friend and cousin, nothing more. Yuck!  
'Heck, how would I know?' Bingley shrugged.  
'You started it.'  
'Hm. Okay, never mind. So, what are you looking for in a woman? What is your type of girl? I mean, your girlfriends were all so very different, it was always quite interesting to meet them for the first time, you know? Okay, all of them were pretty, but that was about the only thing they had in common.'  
Damn the man! Why did he have to be so persistent? Well, he could easily describe the one woman who held his heart, and of whom he was sure she would suit him in every respect, but if he did so, even Bingley would be able to put two and two together. It surely would be blatantly obvious whom he had in mind, and once Bingley knew, Jane would and then Elizabeth herself and then she would look at him with nothing but contempt.  
'Two legs, with feet at the lower end, two arms with hands, tummy, buttocks, a nice pair of jugs, head on top, preferably with hair for aesthetic reasons and a brain for practical ones,' he, at last, answered, hoping that it was evasive enough for Bingley to realise that he didn't want to speak about it.  
'If it weren't for the brain one could think you spoke of a sex doll. You forgot to mention a fanny, by the way.'  
'Oops, yes, she should have one. But I think I've seen too many of them today when doing the inventory. And not a single one I actually wanted to see. But your mother had been quite accurate when she assumed they'd romp all over the house. I almost fell down the stairs when I tripped over a cable when they filmed on the staircase. Seriously, that can't be good for the back, can it?'  
Bingley shrugged to his last statement before replying: 'I presume it depends on how you do it, or rather her. Doggy style might work. But good point, it does start to be a bit bothersome to have these people all over the house. However, having said that, Monty told me today that they got more done these last two days than they thought they would and will be leaving tomorrow morning instead of Friday afternoon.'  
'Hallelujah! There is a light at the end of the tunnel,' Darcy sighed, running his hands through his hair.  
It, however, was most unfortunate that Bingley's comment about doggy style had now somehow got stuck in his brain. What was he? A desperate teenager in love for the first time? But nope, his body had to make it known that he hadn't had sex in a while, and it was just fortunate that it wasn't in an obvious way. Yet.  
'So, back to my initial question, Darcy, what do you look for in a woman?'  
Not again! Did his friend never give up?  
'I've already told you.'  
'Okay, I get it, you don't want to talk about it.'  
'Ah, you're bloody right there, mate.'

'So, what are you going to sing?' Bingley instead inquired.  
'Nothing.'  
'You can't go to karaoke night and not sing, Darcy. And I mean, you _can_ sing, I know that for a fact. I on the other hand...'  
'You'll be fine. And only because I sang in the choir at uni doesn't mean I can sing well.'  
'It does. They don't take people who can't sing and you know that. Besides, I heard you singing under the shower the other day. It sounded great. So?'  
'Does it matter?'  
'That's it!'  
'What's what?'  
'"Nothing else matters"!'  
'Many things do, actually.'  
'I meant the Metallica song.'  
'Yes, I know and I tried to get out of it. I thought that was bloody obvious.'  
And there he had always thought Charles Bingley and his sister had nothing in common. If he wanted to, Bingley could be equally adamant, apparently.  
'Do I really have to drag you on stage?'  
'Only if you insist on me singing.'  
'How about a duet? Then you don't need to stand up on your own? Perhaps Lizzy can be persuaded.'  
'NO!'  
Good grief, if he had to sing with her, he wouldn't be able to get one single note out the right way out of sheer nerves.  
'Oh come now, she's nice, even though you think her only tolerable. And Jane said she actually used to sing in a band before she went to uni and is quite good.'  
Bloody Bingley! Could he not just mind his own business for a change?  
'It's not that. I just don't... - do duets,' Darcy answered flatly. 'I'll drive.'  
Well, he would live to regret that, he was certain. But he had sworn to himself that for this week he had enough units of alcohol already. Actually twice the recommended amount, but he couldn't be quite sure.  
Last night was a mere blur.

He had worked all day long to finish the inventory only to find that when he returned to the breakfast room where he had slept ever since finding the porn-crew in his bedroom that they now were all over that one, too. And not just one couple, but five.

That was one thing and already disturbing enough, but he would have made the best of it by simply sleeping in one of the old dusty servant's beds in the attic, but seeing Monty among them trying to choreograph their movements had gone beyond that. "Now come, all push in at the count of three...- and in, out, in, out... - yes, that's it."

What had at last made him decide to get completely hammered was Gloria's exaggerated moaning that at first, he could not make out properly, since she had an odd sounding accent, he supposed was supposed to be French, and then he'd heard it: "Oh, Monsieur d'Darcy...", just when she pretended to come.

 _That_ had been the final straw.

That was something which needed at least a large bottle of Whiskey to be erased from one's mind. His mind, to be more precise! He wasn't sure of how much he'd had before he ended up on the floor unconscious since he'd not bothered to put the cap back on and in consequence had poured the rest all over himself and the floor while cuddling with the bottle. But at least his memory had been blank for a few blissful hours.

Shit, last time he'd been so drunk had been at a party at uni. And why did he think of sheep all of a sudden?

He had kept his eyes firmly on the dashboard, in order to not give Bingley the slightest idea how much he adored Elizabeth, when he had returned with the two ladies in tow, but it was a matter of course that she would sit in the front while Bingley joined Jane in the back of the car.  
Oh, bloody hell! How was he to survive this evening without going mad, with Elizabeth looking like this?

She looked stunning in that understated dress she wore. It was sexy as hell and yet kept her covered enough to have his mind spinning, wild fantasies running through it of him slowly sliding it down her body, running his hands through her gorgeous thick hair...

Okay, down boy!  
It had only been a split second he had looked at her as she scrambled into the car, one glance to his left and it was close to resulting in an embarrassing situation already and the evening had not even begun. Training his eyes on the dashboard again instead he barely managed to press out a flat compliment that didn't even scratch the surface of what he really thought.

'So, what are you going to sing?' Bingley piped up from the back-seat.  
Not again! Though he was actually quite curious what Elizabeth would sing.  
'Oh, nothing special, really,' Jane answered tentatively. 'But I've always liked "May it be" and it doesn't have any heights so I should manage. I'm not much of a singer.'  
'I love that song!'  
Of course, Bingley did, and if it was only because Jane meant to sing it.  
'Perhaps we could meet and watch Lord of the Rings some time? I mean when you're back in London? You could come over to my place and we could binge watch, order a takeaway, you know, just a comfy movie-night. I need to go to London in a week or so anyway, so, how about it?'  
'Sounds great! I just have to see when I'm on shift.'  
'Well, you've got my number.'  
Darcy wished he could say as much about Elizabeth and himself.  
'And, what are you singing, Charles?'  
'"Listen to your heart".'  
'Oh, Lizzy thought about singing that, too. Didn't you, Lizzy?'  
'Not really. You wanted me to sing it,' Elizabeth answered sounding slightly annoyed.  
'So what have you chosen?' his friend asked curiously.  
Seriously, was this blasted conversation never going to end?  
'"Love hurts".'  
Ouch...- Figures!  
'Well, Darcy has chosen to sing "Nothing else matters".'  
'I did no such thing. _You_ decided I should do so, Charles. I had little say in it,' Darcy, in turn, grumbled.

When they arrived the pub was already fairly packed and the first performances had already started. Most of them were rather cringe-worthy, to say the least. And of all people he would have liked to avoid, Monty was there as well, a vacant-looking Gloria on his arm. Hopefully, she would be content with looking decorative and keep her gob shut.  
Nope, of course not. They had just found a table that would accommodate all four of them and perhaps a friend or two of Jane's and Elizabeth's when she stumbled onto the stage.

High heels really were a bitch, weren't they?  
'I wonder what she'll sing,' Elizabeth remarked dryly, her dark eyes sparkling.  
'Me, too,' Darcy mused.  
'And here is Gloria Smith with "La Isla Bonita"...'  
Oh-uh...

His and Elizabeth's eyes met and he could see the corners of her mouth twitch.  
The only question now was, how was Gloria to manage without her contacts or a brain adapt to remember anything resembling a text.

Right, what a stupid question, she would obviously bend forward to just that one point where gravity and her fake boobs threatened to have her topple over, and all but press her face to the screen. Genius! Hopefully, she was wearing... - Yep, for a change she wore knickers. Skimpy one's but her privates were covered. Not that it took much to find out, for her skirt was as short as ever.  
To say that Gloria managed to fuck up the whole of her performance would have been incorrect. One thing she did do quite well and had people cheer and that was putting down the microphone when the song was finished.  
Oh, Gods, and there now was Monty with "I'm sexy and I know it".

At least he had a sense of humour and took the Mickey out of himself. Unless, of course, he hadn't understood that the song was actually meant to be taken ironically. Had it been much later, the crowd would have actually danced on the tables but as yet no-one was drunk enough and all he earned were a few claps and several eye-rolls.

So, on with the evening. It could only get better from now on, surely. Unless...  
The door to the pub opened and in came... - Kitty and Lydia Bennet. Bloody hell! 


	16. Chapter 16 - Karaoke Nightmare

_Chapter 16:_

 _Karaoke Nightmare_

'What the heck are you two doing here?' Elizabeth gasped at seeing her sisters march into the pub and steering towards their table.  
'Oh, you know, mum brought us over. See, she wholeheartedly agreed with us that it wasn't fair that you should go out and have fun while we had to stay at home,' Lydia answered triumphantly, plunking down on one of the vacant chairs.  
'You can't be serious,' Elizabeth gasped, not only because they were there at all, but because of the outfits her sisters wore.

Kitty was alright that far with her short skirt and blouse, but Lydia took the cake with her supermini, the glittery pumps, the cropped top from under which her bra was peeking out prominently and the load of make-up she had plastered onto her face, almost making Gloria look subtle.  
'Oh, but I am. Mum's going to pick us up again around nine, perhaps a bit later.'  
Okay, did one need to understand why her mother all of a sudden thought it alright to have her two "innocent" youngest daughters spend an evening with the two men whom she had dubbed worthless scoundrels only two days ago? And especially with wearing _these_ clothes? Even now she could hear people gossip about the scandal at Netherfield, though it had actually helped that they had shown up here together. At least people were not so very obvious. But if Jane still went out with Mr Bingley, there might be a chance that they had misunderstood something, and since Darcy was his friend he was probably not so bad either. Jane did that to people. Bless her!  
'So, when are you going to sing, Lizzy?' Lydia inquired, before getting up again to get herself something to drink, swaying slightly on her high heels. 'You have to do so before mum picks us up, you know?'  
'I think now might be an idea, so I can be done with it and you stop pestering me.'  
'Oh, but you have to promise me to sing "Total Eclipse of the Heart", Lizzy. You really nailed it at the Lucas' silver anniversary. I still get goosebumps when I think about it, even though normally I can't stand all this old-fashioned stuff.'  
Where the heck did that come from, all of a sudden? The Lucas' silver wedding anniversary had been two frickin' years ago. For someone like Lydia that was basically an eternity, if not longer.  
'I haven't got a partner and it sounds stupid without a second voice,' she tried to argue, and seriously, at this point, everything would do to get her out of singing that song.  
It was all nice and well to sing it for Willy and Jen Lucas since it was the song that had been played on their first date, but she was not much in the mood to do so now, plus, she hadn't sung it since.  
'Oh, I'm sure Darcy could help you out...' Bingley beamed brightly, nudging his friend's arm.  
If looks could kill, he would have dropped dead, for Darcy did look none too happy, but got up nonetheless.  
'Is something the matter, mate? I thought you wouldn't mind avoiding to sing on your own, I know you don't much like the attention,' Bingley carried on, smiling even brighter, while his hand now reached for Jane's.  
Did she imagined it, or did they exchange a conspiratorial glance? No, that was silly.

They could hardly have planned Lydia asking for her to sing that song, or even for their mother allowing their younger siblings to come here tonight... But something was going on. She just had to figure out what it was.  
'That's one way to put it,' Darcy sighed, taking one last sip of his water, 'I had no intention to sing at all, as I've repeatedly told you when you decided I should sing "Nothing else matters". Seriously, for this week, actually, for the rest of the year, I've made enough of a fool of myself. But as it is, Elizabeth, I will by no means suspend any pleasure of yours, so if you have no objections, I would be willing to sing with you.'  
Oh, Mr All-high-and-mighty was back...

She wasn't very keen on singing that blasted song either, but when he adopted that kind of attitude she would do so, only to spite him. Ha!  
'Yes, I would be _honoured_.'  
She even curtsied at such a ridiculously pompous attitude.

With a little bit of luck, he could even hold a note. Though by the sound of it, he wasn't much of a singer and obviously very aware of it. Ah well, never mind, it could hardly be worse than Gloria's performance.  
Pulling him towards the stage she realised that his hands were sweaty and immediately felt sorry for him. He was nervous. Stage fright was no laughing matter, not at all.  
'Are you alright?'  
'Yes, never mind. I will not back down if that is what you are afraid of.'  
'No. But I don't want you to feel trapped either.'  
'I'm slowly but surely getting used to the fact that I have no say in anything anymore regarding my life. Another week with these miscreants calling themselves a film-team and I'm ready for marriage.'  
'I didn't know you were engaged.'  
'I'm not. I meant theoretically ready in the sense that I don't need to be potty trained by my future wife in terms of obedience. Just think of all the hassle she's saved from. And all thanks to Monty and his crew. Best thing that's happened in my life...' he grimaced at his last words, then gave a tiny grin.  
'I'm sure you will be a real gem,' Elizabeth could not help laughing at his wry expression, though her heart turned heavy.  
His future wife...  
'I'm glad you think so.'  
They were announced by name and the song was about to start when from somewhere amongst the crowd she could hear Gloria pipe up: 'Oh, but that's not Monsieur d'Arcy... And I know that for a fact for he always takes me from behind and then, later on, I blo...'  
Fortunately, Monty had the good sense to firmly press his hand to her mouth before she could say more, but already the room had gone dead silent. Everyone stared at the stage completely dumbstruck.

Elizabeth would have loved to say something, anything, but nothing, absolutely fuck all, came to mind and she did not even dare look at her partner. And then suddenly, before the giggling around them could turn into laughter, the music began playing and Mr Darcy just sang. Just like that, as if nothing had happened and when she missed her turn, he simply continued singing her part, too, with her naturally taking over second voice in the end.  
Bloody hell, had she really thought he couldn't sing? She couldn't have been more wrong. Where before people were about to laugh their heads off they now applauded them with standing ovations. When she looked around to find Darcy to thank him for saving the day, he was gone. She had been in such a daze that she had not even realised he'd left the stage. But there he now was, making his way towards their table, taking his jacket and then walked out of the door.

Without thinking she dashed after him.  
'Mr Darcy?'  
Astonished he turned around.  
'I'm sorry, Elizabeth. I didn't mean to humiliate you.'  
'You didn't. I'd rather say you saved the day when you just started singing.'  
'What else was there to do that would not have ended in deeper mortification?'  
She could only shrug. He was right, the longer they would've stood there on public display, the more horrible it would have been.  
'You sang beautifully. Pray, tell me why you didn't want to sing?'  
'I don't much like public display. It doesn't suit me.'  
'But...'  
'You are cold,' he interrupted her, putting his jacket around her shoulders. 'It'll rain. You should go back inside.'  
'Won't you come, too?'  
'No.'  
'And what will you do now?'  
'Walk back to Netherfield and start packing. I've finished my job there and since Monty and his idiots are leaving tomorrow morning, Bingley no longer requires my company or rather my moral support.'  
'You are leaving?'  
Averting his eyes he simply said: 'Yes.'  
NO!  
'Perhaps we'll meet again?' Darcy inquired softly reaching out.  
She could only nod, and take the hand he'd offered, her heart breaking into a thousand pieces.  
As if in a daze, Elizabeth walked back into the pub not even realising that she still had Darcy's jacket around her shoulders.  
'Hey, sugar,' she was greeted cheerfully by Lieutenant Wickham as soon as she stepped through the door.  
'Hey, George. How are you?' she asked flatly.  
Really, she was in the right mood to wipe that annoying smile off his face, but kicking random people in the crotch was probably not considered to be very lady-like.

'Fine, but I dare doubt the same can be said about you, can it now? Trouble with your boyfriend?'  
Fucking right he was, she felt horrible. But boyfriend, yeah right, as if she had time for that. As tears brimmed her eyes, she could only shake her head.  
'Lizzy? Lizzy what's wrong?'  
Jane had appeared by her side, taking her hands, Bingley in her wake, looking equally concerned while Kitty and Lydia stuck their heads together, giggling before pouring Bingley's fresh pint of lager into their own glasses and then immediately assuming an innocent expression again. Under normal circumstances, Elizabeth would scold them, but she felt too wretched right now to even point it out to her sister.  
'I think I'd rather go home. I'm not feeling so well all of a sudden.'  
And indeed she did not. The combination of a Caipirinha on an empty stomach, the smell of deep-fried food served at the bar, the stupid gossip all around her and Darcy leaving made her physically sick and before she knew it, she was heaving. Pressing one hand to her revolting stomach and the other to her mouth, she dashed out of the door to get rid of her non-existent stomach contents, right in front of her aunt walking her dog.  
'Oh my goodness, are you feeling unwell?'  
'No, I'm having the time of my life,' Elizabeth answered acidly, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.  
'No need to snap at me, Lizzy! You know, you shouldn't drink that much if you can't stomach it.'  
'Sorry, Aunt Rosy, I'm just not feeling much like myself tonight – which, by the way, has sod all to do with alcohol.'

Okay, a bit perhaps...  
In reply, Mrs Phillips only huffed indignantly. Still, Elizabeth's stomach carried on playing up and she kept on pressing her hand firmly against it to keep it from cramping. Damn what was that? PMS XXL? Take one cramp and get one for free? It sure felt like it. And she wasn't even due with her period for another week. But to think that part of all the gossip going around had originally stemmed from her mother and sisters and had all but made Darcy leave was enough to make her feel physically ill. It was as if someone had kicked her in the guts.  
Jane, Bingley stepped out, dragging Kitty and Lydia with them.  
'We'll bring you home, Lizzy. You are in no condition to stay here, are you?'  
Elizabeth shook her head, wanting nothing more than to go home and cry. Bloody emotions!  
'But it's not even half eight yet. Can't we stay behind? We've still got half an hour...'  
'Not on your own,' Jane replied calmly letting go of Lydia to take Elizabeth's arm and pull her into an embrace.  
'By the way, where's Darcy?' Bingley suddenly realised that his friend was gone while the car was still there.  
'He walked home.'  
'Well, that doesn't help us much, since he's got the keys, otherwise we could drive you home.'  
'Could they not be in his jacket?' Kitty asked, pointing at the garment Elizabeth had completely forgotten she was wearing.  
They were.  
'Good, then I can drive us all home, I've had nothing but ginger ale yet,' Jane smiled.  
Of course, she was. She always did.

Dentist's appointment? - Smile.

Broken Arm? - Smile.

Food poisoning? - Smile.

Sometimes Elizabeth really wished she was more like her sister, but alas, she was not.

Happy? - Smile.

Angry? - Frown.

Honest, wasn't it? Though actually with Jane it was, too. She just always saw the bright side of life no matter what.  
'You don't have to leave on my account,' Elizabeth managed to press through from between her lips, not daring to open them any further than necessary.  
'Oh, come now, never mind. Truth be told, I'm not much in the mood for singing anymore either and Charles just said the same, Lizzy, so it is no bother. And in your current condition, I will not have to leave you on your own.'  
'But I happen to want to stay!' Lydia exclaimed, looking petulant. 'I haven't sung yet, and neither has Kitty.'  
'Perhaps if I stayed?' Mrs Phillips suggested, glancing at her second oldest niece with an odd expression while Lydia's face instantly lit up.  
'Yes, that is the perfect solution! You can go home and Kitty and I can stay here and wait for mum to pick us up and we're all happy.'  
What was there to do?  
In the end, it was exactly what they did. Jane and Bingley shoved her into Darcy's Land Rover and off they went while Kitty Lydia and their aunt stepped back into the White Hart. 


	17. Chapter 17 - Meet 'The Police'

_Chapter 17:_

 _Meet 'The Police'_

The walk to Netherfield had been beneficial in so far, that he had calmed down a bit. Oh, how Darcy hated to be the centre of attention! Especially when it was for all the wrong reasons. But perhaps he had left a little too abruptly. However, his instincts had told him to flee as quickly and as far away as he possibly could.  
Hm, thinking about it now, he perhaps should have asked Elizabeth whether she wanted to be brought home or not.

On the other hand, what if she had misunderstood his intentions? Okay, perhaps he had done the right thing by simply leaving Or perhaps not...  
Why was it always this difficult to assess one's own feelings and even worse to try and figure out what other people would think and do?

Darcy had been deep in his thoughts ever since he had left the pub. Ah well, a little bit of distraction would do him good. A good book or a crossword-puzzle usually did the trick, at least temporarily. For five minutes or so.

Or even better, to solve the crucial question of how to get into Netherfield House.  
Yeah, right, very clever to give Elizabeth his jacket and forget that his keys and wallet were within.  
At least it ensured that he would see her again and could take leave properly. Admittedly he had been a little bit of a dick. Okay, a lot, he could just as well admit to it as he ought. He had taken leave with the subtlety and grace of a bulldozer.  
Rounding the house he tried to find an open window, but nope. Of course not.

He himself had taken care that after a good airing all the windows were properly closed again, at least on the ground floor. And he had been thorough. He should be proud of himself.  
If only he had his pocket knife on him, he could push back the lever of one of the windows, but alas, that was in his jacket also. Bummer! And did he really want to break one of the window panes? Nope, not a very good idea either.  
Okay, what other options did he have aside from waiting for Bingley to return home, which might only be in a couple of hours and walking back to the pub?

Ah, one window on the upper floor was open and there was a waterspout just within reach of it.  
Yep, that should do. It should be easy enough. Theoretically.

In practice it proved to be more difficult than he had anticipated. Darcy had hoisted himself up as gracefully as an elephant climbing a tree and gone up about five meters, by the way, why did old houses always have to have such substantial heights?, when suddenly he heard it. A small squeak and then one that sounded suspiciously like something being torn from the wall. Not a good sound at all. So not good. As if in slow motion, the pipe started to bend backwards, tearing itself from the wall and its buddy to which it had clung for centuries, to slowly bring him back to the ground.

Okay, it was slow for the first bit of the five meters he was up in the air, the rest was a rather quick descent as the pipe snapped and he landed in the middle of a long-neglected rose bush, bottom first, fortunately, but with a water pipe that was determined to make the most of his humiliation by hitting him in the forehead. For a moment he felt quite dizzy from the impact, but fortunately, his skull was solidly built while the pipe, on closer inspection, sported a dent. Ha, take that you bastard!  
Scrambling out of the rose bush, Darcy carefully pulled the thorns from his buttocks, or at least those he could get a hold of, for some had managed to break once they had passed his denim and were now firmly lodged in his flesh and, of course, all in places where they were bound to make the most of it.

Really, he never realised what an important piece of anatomy one's arse actually was.  
And, of course, it was at this point that it needed to start raining.  
Okay, what now?

Ah well, he could just as well sleep in the stables, he supposed, though he would have liked to brush his teeth. As it was, his horses were obviously not in the mood to borrow him theirs. Perhaps it was an overdose of fresh air, but as he made himself half-way comfortable in the hay, suppressing the thought that only on Monday it had been used for decidedly different purposes, his gaze fell on the ladder that hung on the side of one of the stable walls. He had never noticed it before, for there had been no reason whatsoever, with only two horses and a stable meant to house at least twelve, to use the hayloft.

It looked fairly solid and would be long enough to reach the window. Perfect!  
With the ladder on his shoulder, he stepped out of the stables again only to be greeted by one of his favourite bands of all time: The Police...

'Drop that ladder and put up your hands!' one of the policemen shouted.  
'What?'  
He had heard and understood them, but for the sake of it, he could not fathom what they wanted from him.  
'Drop that ladder and put up your hands,' a female voice repeated her partner's words.  
'Sure, but why?'  
'Don't play dumb with me, laddy. What do you think why? How about breaking and entering?'  
'I live here. I mean, a friend of mine does, and I'm visiting him.'  
'By entering his house with a ladder? That's one strange way of visiting a friend.'  
'I forgot my keys in the pub. If we could just drop by there, Mr Bingley will confirm my story.'  
' Nice try. We know that one, do you think we were born yesterday? As soon as you get the chance you will make a run for it. So, nope. You, laddy will go straight to the police station and then we'll see. You know, we are not as dumb as you think us to be, Mr Smarty-Pants,' the first policeman, obviously an older fellow, growled. 'And now put _down_ that ladder!'  
Suppressing a remark that right now they did a very good job at appearing exceedingly stupid, Darcy, at last, put down the ladder and lifted his hands.

Before he knew it, he was handcuffed and sitting in the back of the police car.

Well, on the upside, he at least would have a warm bed to sleep in and one that had not been used for fornication. After half a week of more and more limited options as to where to sleep, that was something, he supposed.

'Name?' he was roughly asked by the PC on desk duty.  
'Fitzwilliam Richard Walter Charles Henry Darcy.'  
'You are kidding me, right?'  
'By no means.'  
'ID?'  
'It's in my jacket which in turn, as I've told your colleagues repeatedly, is in the pub, as are my keys and my phone. I gave the jacket to a friend when she started to feel cold and forgot it when I left. Now, that is not so very difficult to understand, is it?'  
'Stop being testy, it won't do you any good.'  
Rolling his eyes in exasperation he dearly hoped that the two policemen, okay, one was a woman, so that was not exactly politically correct, he supposed, were actually following his plight and were on their way to find his friend to clear up this mess. And just as if to answer his thoughts, the radio piped up to inform the man behind his desk that they had not been able to find Bingley. Great!  
He just needed to check, but no, it was not Friday the thirteenth.  
'Can I just try and call my friend?'  
Bingley's was one of the few mobile numbers he knew by heart. But it was easy enough considering that all he had to do was count down all the prime numbers up to thirteen – one, three, five, seven, eleven, thirteen.

There was only one little downside, Bingley had turned his mobile off. Well, when everything else had gone wrong, why should there be an exception to the rule? This was clearly not his lucky day.  
Walking ahead of yet another constable he was glad to find that there at least was a toilet, a sink and all necessary toiletries aside from a razor waiting for him. There was also a bed, which looked inviting enough at this point. And had it not been for the chap in the cell opposite his, who was contently hugging a red plastic bucket and heaving, showing clearly why he was in there, everything would have been dandy.  
'Hey there, mate,' the drunkard greeted, his voice slurred, before once again retching.  
'Hi,' Darcy replied shortly, plunking down on the bed, trying to ignore the splatter of vomit dropping into the bucket.  
When the man was done throwing up he grinned widely, asking: 'And what you in here for?'  
'Trying to get into my friend's house after leaving my keys in the pub.'  
'And, she didn't appreciate that, I take it?'  
'He, actually. I don't think he would have minded, but the police thought otherwise. So, why are you in here?'

Not that he really needed an answer, as said, it was obvious enough.  
'Oh, the usual. Had a bit of a drink. When on my way home from the pub, I felt the need to take a dump...'  
He retched again filling the bucket just a little bit more.

How much capacity did a human stomach have? With cats and dogs it was a simple answer, about twice their body size, with cows it was slightly above a hundred litres, so hopefully that man was not an ox in disguise. At any rate, Darcy was not entirely sure if he really wanted to hear any more.  
'... and I did,' the man went on. 'I mean it was really really urgent and the spot was pretty convenient, too, right behind a large van, parked underneath a tree right opposite another pub. It was just unfortunate that the lady driving it had not yet gotten out. Thought I wanted to rape her or something, as soon as she saw my willy. Should have heard her screeching.'  
Opposite a _pub_? Was there any use to ask a drunk man why he had not simply gone into the pub to do his business there? Probably not. Though as intoxicated as he was, the explanation would presumably be quite entertaining.  
'I can vividly imagine,' Darcy said instead, pretending to yawn. 'I think I just go and brush my teeth and then sleep a little. Do they turn off the lights?'  
'No, in case we feel like hanging ourselves. They don't like to do more paperwork than is absolutely necessary, and Harry is the worst of all when it comes to filling out forms, believe me.'  
'Swell!'  
Though he had never liked sleeping with the lights on, Darcy did actually sleep fairly well considering his surroundings and the thorns still stuck in his backside. He would need to see a doctor to get them out, he presumed.

Shit, by the looks of it, he was close to winning a Darwin Award... - Not quite yet, but if he carried on like this, he might

have every chance.  
His companion had eventually ceased throwing up and was now snoring peacefully and with the gentleness of a jackhammer on his bunk. The neon lights overhead flickered cheerfully as if they meant to get a job as Christmas decoration as soon as they had managed to escape the prison they were currently held in, and the dripping of the water tap right next to his pillow was the perfect symbol for the passing of time. Unnerving, steady and with nothing that could stop it. Just about perfect conditions for a restful snooze...

The next morning, Darcy regained consciousness somehow by the warden serving breakfast.

For some reason he had expected watery porridge and tea, instead, he found that his plate swam in a mass of baked beans with a slice of toast shyly hiding underneath, with only one corner peeking out as if to check whether the coast was clear or not. It was. He had never liked baked beans or soggy toast for that matter. To call those things vegetables was plain heinous. Okay, at one point they had grown on a bush, but then someone with cruel intentions had boiled them to a point close to death only to finally drown them and completely finishing them off in what some would call tomato sauce.  
'Hey, are you not going to eat that?' his companion asked, quickly shovelling the rest of his own beans into his mouth. 'I'm starving, mate. I feel as if my stomach is completely hollow, you know.'  
Now, really? What a surprise...

Darcy just shook his head and pushed aside his plate.  
'Are you sure you don't want your breakfast?'  
'Very.'  
'Great,' his fellow inmate beamed and then opened the door to his cell as if it was the most normal thing in the world.  
'What, are you not locked in?'  
'Nope, they know exactly where to find me and in half an hour I'm on duty anyway.'  
Walking towards the front desk, the drunkard from last night apparently spoke to the warden and a moment later came back with the keys.  
Now, if that was not odd, what was?  
'Is that normal around here, that prisoners can come and go as they like?' Darcy could not help asking, handing the plate over to the grinning man.  
'Na, of course not. But you know, even a policeman can do stupid things on occasion...'  
What? Okay. Right.  
'Like taking a dump behind a parked car?'  
'Yep. A momentary lapse of reason, so to say. Hey, but at least my colleagues and I have something to laugh about for the next couple of weeks. Okay, mainly my colleagues. Until they do something stupid that is, then I'll have a field day.'  
Well, they were human after all. - Somehow...

But Darcy's trust in law and order had been somewhat affected now, if he were honest.  
'So, you are a policeman?'  
'Yep. PS Lambert. I'm actually the boss around here. So, what are you doing? I mean aside from trying to get into your friend's house?' Lambert grinned, finishing his second plate of beans on toast before preceding to brush his teeth.  
'I'm a farmer.'  
Alright, not exclusively, but that should be enough info for the moment, shouldn't it?  
'Ah, okay. By the way, I don't believe you're a burglar if that is any consolation.'  
'Cheers.'  
For some reason, however, it was. Odd, how one night in prison could muddle one's brain...  
'Would you like another cuppa?'  
'Please.'  
'Okay, coming up. Cyril, bring us some more tea please,' Sergeant Lambert shouted and a stoic huff from his colleague was the reply.

When the tea had arrived, he carried on: 'So, tell me exactly what has happened and then let's see what I can do about it.'  
Explaining everything was easy, and yet, truth be told, at this point, even to him, the story did sound slightly unbelievable. And he had not even had the excuse of having been drunk. Seriously, how stupid could one be?

Then again, as unbelievable as his story was, sitting in two opposite cells with the very man normally overseeing them was actually taking the cake. If he ever dared tell anybody, he was sure no-one would believe him. Really, what was a fight against a waterspout by comparison? Absolutely normal. Yep, nothing awkward about it at all. And he should be proud that he had won the fight.  
Hm, perhaps it had been the moping spout that had called the police...

Somebody must have, in an area where there were fuck all people around.  
'Righty...- Really, this story is so incredibly stupid, no-one could come up with this shit. Or if, they should go see a shrink. So, since you don't seem to be the kind in need for therapy, I reckon you, therefore, must be telling the truth, meaning I'll see to your release asap, though it can be another hour or two. Are you smoking?'  
'No, only on occasion when I'm very drunk.'  
'Funnily enough that is the only time I'm not smoking. So, I'm doomed: I either die of lung cancer or alcohol poisoning. - So, but I need to get changed. See you in a minute.'

The morning passed slowly and still no sign of Bingley anywhere. It was past nine o'clock. Where was that man, dammit?  
'Could I try and call my friend again?' Darcy asked, eventually, impatiently looking at his watch.  
'Sure, if it'll help.'  
'Have you tried to find him at his house?'  
'Yes, but no-one was there. I asked Peter, a buddy of mine to drop by but according to him he only met with this Monty Howard and he in turn said that he hadn't seen your friend since last night when he left the pub together with Jane and Lizzy Bennet.'  
Of course! Why had he not thought about that sooner? He was just about to ask whether he could call there, when an emergency call arrived that distracted PS Lambert and a moment later Darcy found himself in the back of yet another police car, wondering what this was all about. 


	18. Chapter 18 - Bovine escapees

_Chapter 18:_

 _Bovine escapees_

'Alright, so what is this all about?' Darcy could not help wondering as they dashed through Meryton with the sirens blaring, making a few pedestrians jump and a familiar looking sports car stop at the very last minute.

Gloria on her way over to Netherfield for their last few hours of shooting, it seemed.

Wait, what? Without a driver's licence? Oh, no, that was Monty's slicked back hair, not Gloria's bleached blond hair-do. The two of them really were a fit...  
'We've just had a call from Longbourn House Farm that their cows have escaped and are stampeding towards Meryton.'  
Oh shit! If a herd of cows was on the run there was nothing that could stop them. Sod all!

The only hope was, that they got tired soon enough and then would willingly turn back to their home pastures. But as it was, the grass was always greener on the other side, and cows seemed to abide by this simple rule just like pretty much everybody else he knew.  
'And how come I into play?'  
'You're a farmer, aren't you?' PS Lambert replied with a shrug of his shoulders. 'And besides, since your friend left with Lizzy and Jane Bennet last night, lovely girl that, by the way, Jane, I mean, he might be there after all. I tried to call, but no-one picked up. Sod's law. Guess they were busy with their cows.'  
Okay, that much he had gathered as well.  
'And?'  
'You know, you scratch my back, I'll scratch yours. As I've said earlier, I don't think you're a burglar. So what do you say to, you help me out in this instance, seeing that my colleagues are currently all busy, okay, rather inept to deal with large four-legged creatures truth be told, but just let's pretend... - and I _accidentally_ put your file through the shredder? I mean, it does look suspiciously like a copy machine...'  
'You are the sneakiest policeman I've ever met, Sergeant Lambert.'  
'Thank you. That is the nicest thing anybody ever said about me,' Lambert laughed as he turned into the narrow country lane that led to Longbourn only to immediately slam the breaks as he almost ran over Mrs Bennet and some other lady out walking. Or perhaps waddling would be more accurate as they wriggled their backsides to the rhythm of their brightly coloured ski sticks.  
'Oh, fuck!' Lambert sighed before dropping his face into his hands. 'Not that stupid hyena.'  
'Hyena?'  
'Have you ever heard her cackle? She's the lady that called the police last night, I am absolutely sure of it. Pretty, but shit, she must have a sturdy skull or otherwise it would collapse due to the vacuum inside of it. - You know the air pressure and so.'  
'Sawdust, Lambert, sawdust, is the answer.'  
'Presumably. Oh, are those cows over there?' Sergeant Lambert pointed through an opening in the hedge and indeed, a little bit in the distance a mass of black and white waltzed itself towards the outskirts of Meryton.  
At least they looked docile and were obviously not agitated, that was something to be thankful for. It would make it infinitely easier to bring them back when they were calm and just in the mood for a ramble instead of them having gotten a fright for some reason or other and fleeing in a panic. Like this, the picture was almost a peaceful one, if not for the fact that cows and urban living somehow didn't mix very well.  
'Yep, and they head straight for town. Fifty-odd girls on a shopping spree,' Darcy answered wryly.  
'Yeah, right, for they have absolutely nothing to wear. I don't think they'll be impressed if I turn on the red light of my traffic paddle?'  
'Nope, it's not that they'd be offended by the red light, but they simply don't give a shit about traffic rules I'm afraid. Nihilistic buggers, the lot of them!'  
'And what are we going to do instead?'  
'Leave the car and first face the dragon and then a stampeding herd of domesticated buffalo, I dare say,' Darcy sighed, opened the door and walked over to the scowling Mrs Bennet and her indignant looking buddy.

'Good morning, good to meet you here, you will be of great help, madam. May we just borrow one of your sticks each quickly and then ask you to come with us?'  
'Now really, Mr Darcy...' Mrs Bennet started off at his ironic tone of voice.  
'For I believe those are your cows over there...' he pointed in the direction where the bovine escapees just took a sharp turn as they were met with the first fence of one of the back gardens blocking their path and then, fortunately, wandered on towards them.  
'Oh, dear me!' Fanny Bennet cried out. 'Oh, how unfortunate...- What are we going to do now?'  
Had she really no idea? Bloody hell, she had been a farmer's wife for more than two decades.  
'Oh, my poor, poor nerves!'  
'Can you please postpone your nervous breakdown until later? At the moment, I dare say it is more crucial to get the animals back to where they belong.'  
'But they are so very big!'  
No shit, Sherlock?  
'Yes, and presently they head for the road, which is fortunate, as is the fact that they already seem to tire. However, we need to stop them from going into town before they hit the next pub. So, would you rather go to the front or back of the herd?'

Now appearing confused he hoped he'd had enough time to explain cow herding 101 to her before they were surrounded by a herd of Holstein breed.  
'Well, one needs to go to the front and lead them back to their stable while another person, or better yet three, need to go to the back to make sure one doesn't fuck off to go see her boyfriend...'  
'But what if I get run over?' Mrs Bennet almost screeched, but it settled the matter.  
'Right, then I'll go to the front and you and your companion to the back, while Lambert here will follow us in his car. Oops, here they are...'  
And indeed, trudging through one of the hedges, the black and white cows slowly but surely filled the lane and before they knew it, they were literally in the middle of it. Which led to Mrs Bennet clinging to him for dear life. How the heck could a farmer's wife be scared of frickin' cows and decidedly calm ones at that?  
'So, I'll go to the front then...' Darcy mumbled, but the silly woman just would not let go of him, of course.  
'I'll take the lead then,' Lambert grinned broadly, seemingly enjoying himself. 'Not that I know all that much about cows, but these look harmless enough.'  
'Harmless?' Mrs Bennet cried out, while her friend, who until now had stood by in silence, sighed, handed one of her ski sticks over to Lambert and then made her way towards the far side, carefully treading on the bank since the herd now basically blocked all of the road.  
And why was it, that exactly at that moment, the postman had to pass through?

Honking his horn with some impatience he did manage to clear the road, but the animals, in a bout of sudden fear, had darted off in various directions. Whoohoo! Oh joy! Great! Fantastic! Fuckwit! Wanker! Arsehole!  
Darcy really couldn't help himself, it was quite by accident, but before he knew it his right hand had gone up and for some reason and all on its own had stuck out his index and middle finger in a V-shape, back of hand pointing towards the stupid bastard in his red car. Take that, you cunt!  
'Plan B?' Lambert inquired, angrily slotting down the license number of the post van.  
'Get some horses and do it cowboy-style, I suppose. They are now literally everywhere and seriously, the only consolation at this point is, that the fields are already harvested and they are fairly easy to spot and not doing much damage unless they get into...'  
'... Meryton.'  
'Yep.'  
'You are actually lucky, for there are two horses coming over that hill.'  
'Sure it's not a monster?'  
'What?'  
'Never mind.'  
His eyes had already fixed on Jane and Elizabeth riding as fast as they could after their runaways, though Elizabeth had obviously some difficulty staying atop, or getting the horse where she wanted it to go. Yes, she did mention that she wasn't a horsewoman at some point, but truth be told, he had thought her to be merely modest. What girl did not ride when there were horses right in front of her nose?  
'Mum, the cows have escaped!' Jane stated as they were about to ride past. 'Have you seen them?'  
'Some went over there and others down there and again others in that direction. They got scared after the postman decided he was in a hurry.'  
'Bloody fantastic,' Elizabeth cursed, trying to straighten up. 'So, we have to separate and somehow round them up, if only I knew how...'  
Did he imagine it, or did she look slightly ill? She was paler than usual and her eyes were surrounded by dark circles. Poor thing! She should be in bed, by the looks of it, hugging a hot water bottle and drinking a nice cup of hot chicken broth not sit on a horse chasing after a herd of cattle.  
'Well, that's why I brought my buddy here with me,' the young sergeant grinned, though Darcy was sure he had also picked up on Elizabeth's slightly feverish appearance. 'And he just said horses were just the thing he needed to get them back.'  
'Then he can have mine,' Elizabeth sighed. 'Seriously, how can something that is stuffing itself with hay on a regular basis still be so hard and uncomfortable?'  
He chuckled and then, seeing that she had trouble getting off the tall horse, he held out his arms. It was the natural thing to do, wasn't it?  
Slumping against him, it was just as natural to reach out and feel her forehead. Yep, just as he had thought, she was burning up, but alas, there was little time to do anything or otherwise, the cows would be gone for good. They were already out of sight, aside from a mere handful that thankfully started to be tired of the exertion.

Swinging himself into the saddle he winced. He had almost forgotten about the thorns stuck in his backside, but now that particular piece of memory came back with a vengeance. All the more reason to be done quickly.  
It was actually surprisingly easy to round up the scattered herd and he had to admit that he was quite impressed by Jane Bennet. She was calm and level-headed while at the same time quick on the uptake and not twenty minutes later they were on their way back to Longbourn, the herd now trotting calmly in front of them, not one animal trying to escape. At last one thing that went well. After the last couple of days he should be thankful for it, he supposed.  
'Darcy?' Bingley looked at him with surprise written all over his face. 'What are you doing here?'  
Well, Darcy could ask him the same question, especially after he had not picked up his phone all morning.  
'What does it look like, Charles? I'm playing cowboy.'  
'Have you slept in your clothes?'  
'Can we postpone this conversation until some time later, please? First of all, what's going on here? You have not coincidentally been helping around the stables, have you?'  
Bingley now looked decidedly sheepish.  
'Well...'  
'You did.'  
'Yep.'  
'And?'  
'Well, Jane and Lizzy had milked the cows and then started to untie them to bring them out. All was fine, I swear. They walked out as usual and started grazing. But then I had trouble with the mini-tractor somehow and set back instead of forward, breaking through the fence and I went to tell Lizzy but somehow when I got off the tractor, one cow started to follow me and then another and before I knew it the whole herd was after me. I panicked and started to run and eventually managed to climb a tree - and they just kept on walking across the field. I went back to the farm to tell Jane and Lizzy about my mishap and Lizzy immediately called the police while Jane saddled the horses to chase down the cows.'  
'Bingley, you are a twat sometimes. Me, too, for that matter. I forgot my keys in my jacket and tried to break into Netherfield. I fear one of the waterspouts is worse for wear and I lost a fight with a rose bush. Not that I got into the house, mind. I spent the night in the lovely company of Sergeant Lambert, who I see just arriving as well. But really, Bingley, what were _you_ , of all people, doing on a mini-tractor after last time's debacle?'  
'Clean the stables and then bring in fresh straw. I mean, as you've said, I have sat on a tractor once before.'  
'Yes, and it did end in a catastrophe then as well as I have just now implied and as you might remember.'  
'One is supposed to learn from one's mistakes, you know, Darcy?'  
'Yep, and in this case, it was not the mix-up of gears, it was to let you get on a tractor,' he chuckled, knowing that Bingley would take it the right way.  
And he did, wryly answering with some mock pride in his voice: 'Point taken. But at least I refrained from putting the adapters of the milking machine to my face this time around.'  
'Thank goodness!' Darcy laughed. 'Seriously that day your face looked as if you had some weird botched up cosmetic surgery.'  
'But it did tighten my skin...' Bingley now laughed as well, while Jane looked slightly bemused at their exchange.

When the cows had been secured again, Darcy made his way over to Longbourn House, while Jane and Bingley stayed behind to take care of the horses. He doubted that it was a good idea, but Jane Bennet was a capable person and would keep an eye on her boyfriend, he hoped.  
By the time he reached the house, Lambert was long gone again. Shame, he would have liked to bid him farewell, but never mind.

Elizabeth and her mother as well as Mrs Bennet's friend, he then found out was Mrs Lucas, sat around the kitchen table the latter two merrily chatting about the morning's events, giggling like two schoolgirls, completely ignoring the fact that Lizzy was close to falling asleep from exhaustion.

But really, it was all a bit too much, wasn't it? From her mother's reaction this morning it was pretty clear that she never helped around the farm, and as yet he had not heard or seen any of the younger sisters do so either. And then there was Sunday night when Mrs Bennet had left it to Elizabeth to organise dinner for the family when absolutely nothing was in the house except for broccoli.  
Was it just him, or did Lizzy really have to carry most of the burden all by herself? After all, Jane was only here on holiday and would be gone within a couple of days to leave her next younger sister to fend for herself again.

Slowly but surely his mood became increasingly grumpy, and yet, what right did he have to scoop Elizabeth up in his arms and tuck her into bed as he wished to do? Preferable snuggling up beside her to hold her close for a while.  
When, after some tumult in the entrance hall, Elizabeth got up tiredly to put on the kettle, and then both her younger sisters trudged into the kitchen in their jammies, looking fresh and well rested after not going to school as they ought, asking for their breakfast before slumping down at the table likewise, immediately starting to join the conversation of the two ladies, he had enough.


	19. Chapter 19 - No gluebulls!

_Chapter 19:_

 _No gluebulls!_

'Really, how spoilt can one be?' Darcy spat out incredulously, making Elizabeth almost jump at the intensity of his words that, truth be told, pretty much matched her own thoughts.  
Honestly, she was seething, too. How dare Lydia trudge into the kitchen like that slumping down in her chair demanding breakfast as if she as her older sister was nothing but a scullery maid?

Kitty was slightly better, for at least she had gone to help herself to some cereal and milk, but it was no secret, that Lydia didn't like plain cornflakes and the ones she actually liked were three times as expensive, while the packet was only about half the size of the plain ones. Seriously, Elizabeth had seen no reason to buy them when she was last shopping. Thank goodness Lydia had not paid much attention then, or another tantrum would have followed... - By the way, why were her sisters here anyway?  
She apparently wasn't the only person wondering about it for as soon as she had finished her thought, Darcy asked in an irritated voice: 'And should you not be at school anyway?'  
Lydia answered promptly and not without a certain smugness: 'Oh, but we were so incredibly tired after last night's outing that we just couldn't get up. You know, our mother almost got molested by a sex offender. So we first had to call the police and by the time they had finally arrived and taken our statements, it had gotten pretty late. And can you believe it, they didn't even take us seriously!'  
Really? One dare wonder why...  
'And besides, it's none of your business!' Lydia carried on, glaring at Darcy with some defiance, while the complacency about breaking the news about their mother's supposed peril never quite left her face.  
Not that Elizabeth paid much heed to it anyway, since her mother was in the habit of _slightly_ exaggerating even the commonest of things. A petulant bee easily turned into a flying, death bringing monster, a sprained ankle into a life-threatening injury that at best had to be amputated to ward of any potential infection, and only a couple of weeks ago her mother had caused a major police operation, when, while playing hide and seek, Henry Jonson, Sam's son, couldn't find his twin sister Cathy and had asked her mother whether he had seen her, as any child would. Excitedly, Mrs Bennet's mind had immediately jumped to the girl being abducted, even though the boy had actually mentioned why he was searching for her in the first place.

So, yeah, in all likeliness the man she'd seen last night had done nothing but left his zip open without realising it. The cucumber had left the salad, so to say...

Or perhaps, at most, the poor sod had relieved himself in the bushes behind the van, who knew?  
Though in some way, Lydia was right, of course, it was none of Darcy's business. Seriously, this spelt trouble. Neither her mother or sisters took well to any kind of criticism and truth be told, as deserved as it probably was, it was kind of embarrassing that a complete stranger would point out all her closest relatives' faults with such uncanny accuracy. She could literally see Lydia grew more and more deaf to what was being said while her mother flared up with indignation.  
Darcy, however, seemed completely oblivious of the dark clouds gathering over his head ready to turn into a massive thunderstorm.  
' _You_ are really the most spoilt brat I have ever come across, Miss Lydia,' he, in his usual blunt and sometimes abrasive manner, carried on in a way that made Elizabeth feel even more uncomfortable and anxious.  
Not, as said, that it really bothered Lydia at all.

Whenever something was said she did not like, she turned into the human version of a padded cell, meaning the harder one threw oneself against the wall, the further one got propelled from it, while said wall looked annoyingly unconcerned. In short, just like Lydia right now, while their mother was fuming, and it was easy to anticipate that any moment now, smoke would escape from her ears.  
Trying to think of something to say in order to save the situation from escalating Elizabeth's mind was going almost into overdrive but stayed worryingly blank as her brain worked incredibly slow today. She could not quite finish her thought, not that she had gotten very far anyway, when her mother interrupted it with her usual _subtle_ voice, at this point reaching almost the bone-piercing shrillness of a dentist's drill.  
'Excuse me, Mr Darcy, how dare you scold my poor Lydia so? Can you not see that she's exhausted?' Mrs Bennet exclaimed loudly as if the one who spoke the loudest would win the fight.  
Okay, with her father and his natural indolence that was actually a good way to go, but as yet, her mother had not realised that, under normal circumstances, in situations such as these, for example, retreating was actually the wiser decision to make instead to nag on and on without aim and purpose. And most and for all, without a good argument to back one up.  
Right, even using the word "wise" in potential reference to her mother was something of a stretch. In short, it ought not to be attempted... - At least not without the danger of blowing apart one's brain in the process.  
Darcy's voice, to the contrary, had gone down to an almost whisper, though she was sure that he was just as well heard as her mother had when he answered: 'Exhausted? Exhausted! Really, you speak of your youngest daughter as if she's the one working her butt off and here is Elizabeth clearly unwell and you don't give bloody five straws!'  
Oops, she had not seen that coming. It was almost cute. As if he cared about her when surely he was only annoyed with Kitty and mainly Lydia and their mother for whatever reason actually escaped her. Ass said, it wasn't his business.  
Besides, yeah, true, she did feel terrible but was it really that obvious?

If only her fucking brain wasn't so befuddled from the medication she'd taken earlier, okay, and from her stupid cold which had led to former measure in the first place, she might be able to discern why suddenly everything had gone so tits up in a matter of mere minutes, but alas, it _was_ befuddled and it got increasingly worse if she were honest and consequently she started to not give a toss at all. At any rate, it was high time somebody told Lydia off and since it was an unpleasant task at best, Mr Darcy was readily welcome to do so...

She felt so incredibly tired her head started spinning.  
'Lizzy is old enough to know when she should rest or not and since she is still here, that is that,' Mrs Bennet snapped back, crossing her arms in front of her bosom defensively. 'That cannot be said of either of my youngest, they have not our sense yet.'  
Sure, she'd almost forgotten that Lydia was a fifteen-year-old toddler. The only thing that was missing to complete the picture was a dummy in her sister's mouth and a bib around her neck. Though actually, she was dummy enough herself to make the former unnecessary. Terrible two's my arse!

And wait, what? Did her mother just basically say that Kitty and Lydia could not be trusted with even such a simple thing as knowing when they actually felt ill? Or when they should go to bed? Right, that really explained why she'd let them go out on a school night.  
'You are kidding, surely?' Darcy asked, incredulously looking from one to the other until his eyes fixed on the back door, and as she followed his gaze she became aware that Jen Lucas had left the stage voluntarily and had slipped out of the kitchen just now. 'But as long as it is convenient for you and your youngest daughters why give a damn, right?'  
Oops again. Elizabeth, turned around, looking just as shocked at him as the rest of the people still assembled. But her actions had been a bit too hasty for her dizzy head and the only thing that kept her from toppling over were Darcy's arms as he quickly caught her.

Shit, why did he always have to be right?

She _felt_ horrible. Her sisters _were_ selfish brats. Lydia in particular and her mother was so self-absorbed in her own reality, that she would hardly have registered a shower of bricks raining down on her if it didn't suit her.  
'Now, does that convince you that she is ill?' Darcy thundered, picking her up daintily as if she weighed nothing and carried her out of the room and towards the stairs.

It felt oddly comforting to be held by him, Elizabeth mused for one little moment, only faintly hearing her mother as she seemingly panicked, screeching: 'Oh my God, is she dead?'  
'No, she's not, she's only feverish, in case you've failed to notice. Feverish and completely exhausted from this morning's mishap,' Darcy replied with a raised voice so that it could still be heard in the kitchen as he ascended the staircase already.  
'Which one is your room, Lizzy?' he asked gently as he had reached the top.  
'Second door on the left,' she mumbled, almost falling asleep already.  
'Good. Will you be alright changing into your pyjamas by yourself or shall I go and get Jane?'  
'I could help,' Kitty piped up behind them, her voice sounding shaky.  
'That would be great. Thank you.'  
Putting her down on her bed, he immediately left the room again and Kitty began to help her undress. A moment later, the door flung open again, just as Kitty had taken off her sister's shirt and bra, revealing a furiously blushing Mr Darcy who was unceremoniously pushed back into the room for whatever reason, as her mother wailed about calling the doctor, or rather the undertaker, by the sound of it.  
'I'm fine, mum. I just have a bloody cold, nothing more. You know, people don't die of trifling little colds.'  
'That is what Mrs Jasper said and then she never woke up again.'  
'Mrs Jasper was ninety-eight, mama.'  
'Yes, but she was otherwise perfectly healthy. Had she called for a proper doctor instead of going to this quack Mr Thornton, she could have lived several more years.'  
'Mum, Mr Thornton _is_ a proper doctor with an additional education in alternative medicine...'  
'Codswallop! All this newfangled stuff with herbs and old household remedies and what are these things called, the little round ones? Gluebulls?'  
'Globules,' Darcy offered, determinedly staring down at his feet as Kitty completely undeterred now struggled to pull Elizabeth's denim from her legs.  
It would have helped had she opened the button and zip, but it was hard to get a word in edgewise as her mother had just started on a rant about alternative medicine, the critique Mr Darcy had dished out only moments before completely forgotten. No surprise there. Such unpleasant things never stuck with her.  
'Yes, yes, those are the things I mean. Exactly! I mean, how is one supposed to know what they put in there? It might just as well be drugs, for all we know. And then these herbal teas... - Oh, don't get me started on them! Thyme, caraway, ginger, sage and coughwort. I mean, that even _sounds_ unhealthy, and then cold compresses. _Cold_ compresses! I once almost broke my hand and Dr Jones was on holiday and so I _had_ to go to him and Mr Thornton had the audacity to recommend nothing but cold compresses! Said it was merely a sprain and once the swelling was gone, it would be alright. Alright my arse, I tell you! Needless to say, it didn't work at all.'  
Yep, it didn't indeed, for her mother had kept the cold compress on her hand a total of half a minute before deciding that she'd better go to the hospital and had quickly called an ambulance. What she forgot to mention now was, that the doctors at the hospital had given her an ice pack and some ibuprofen and had sent her on her way again. But, of course, an ice pack was so much more effective than a couple of crushed ice cubes stuffed into a zip-lock bag with a kitchen towel wrapped around it... Okay, it stayed cool for a bit longer, but it also needed an hour to cool down again, while, since it had been the middle of summer, ice cubes were on ready supply. If only they were not so totally ineffective... Sigh!  
'And then a couple of days later, Kitty was stung by a wasp and we had to go to Mr Thornton _again_ and what do you think he did? He went to some weird looking plant, cut off a piece and smeared the juice onto the badly inflamed sting! And then said, that should it start to play up again, we should cut an onion in half and rub its juice on there and that there was no need to take further action as poor Kitty clearly wasn't allergic to wasp stings. It was unbelievable!'  
'Then perhaps you should go and call Dr Jones?' Darcy, at last, managed to interject, courtesy to her mother having spoken so much and so rapidly that she desperately needed to take a breath lest she'd pass out.  
'Yes, yes, I will do just that.'  
Kitty, in the meanwhile, had managed to pull her denim from her legs without opening the bloody button, and not just that, but her knickers were now caught around her ankles. Dying suddenly seemed like a very good option for even her fever could not conquer the mortification Elizabeth felt right at this moment, at flashing pretty much everything right in front of a stranger. Though with some relief she quickly realised, that Mr Darcy once again had left the room and had quietly closed the door behind him without her realising, so quickly was he gone.

Still, even when helping, on occasion her two youngest sisters made her want to throttle them. Did they just never use their stupid brains? Okay, apparently not. And it had been a rhetorical question at any rate, as slowly but surely Elizabeth drifted off to sleep at last. Glorious knockout! Unconsciousness at last! 


	20. Chapter 20 - Prickly little bastards

_Chapter 20:_

 _Prickly little bastards_

Okay, it was not as if it was any of his business, but if it meant Elizabeth could recover in peace, he would do what it took to keep the farm running in the meantime. And it was also not, as if he really needed to be back home in Derbyshire within the next couple of days. After all, Mrs Younge knew what she was doing and now that the harvest was over aside from a little ploughing and getting everything ready for the next season, that was that. Besides, she had enough staff to give her a hand. No worries there.

Here at Longbourn on the other hand, there was no capable steward such as Mrs Younge, and no-one like her husband to keep the machines and premises in order.

On the other hand, yeah, it still wasn't his bloody business... Darcy had gone through that a couple of times already now as he sat on the gate of the very meadow onto which he had ushered the cows earlier today, an imaginary little devil sitting on his left shoulder and a little angel on his right both quarrelling like an old married couple, and all because of the blasted question whether or not it was a good idea to help around Longbourn House Farm or not.  
Right, what spoke against it, aside from that it wasn't his frickin' business?  
Immediately the horned and goat-footed fellow to his left piped up: "Mrs Bennet, Lydia and Kitty..." - Well, what was there to deny? That indeed was a very good reason to fuck off and leave them to deal with it on their own.  
"But," the winged goody-two-shoes interjected, tapping on his right shoulder to gain all of his attention, "if you don't help it will not be them who suffer, but Lizzy, Jane and the poor animals..."  
"Yeah, but what's in it for us?" Mini-Mephistopheles shrugged his shoulders in an innocent gesture.  
"It's not always for what we get, but for what is the right thing to do..." the haloed nuisance countered, wagging her finger accusingly.  
Okay, she was right. Technically.

But there were still Mrs Bennet, Lydia and Kitty... - And it still wasn't _his_ sodding business.  
"But just think of how relieved and happy Elizabeth will be," Angie continued. "Just think of how thankful she'll be and how her eyes will be sparkling..."  
"… while she's looking up at you giving you a nice quick blow job..." the trident-wielding spawn of hell grinned insinuatingly before poking his pitchfork into Darcy's shoulder.  
Okay, that was the point, where he better stopped thinking and started working. Gods, he was going crazy!

But when Mrs Bennet had dragged him back into Elizabeth's bedroom, while Kitty unconcernedly continued to undress her sister, he had to admit that his thoughts had slightly strayed, or more accurately, his brain had re-located to below his waistline. And then suddenly, Elizabeth had lain completely naked on her bed in all her glory. Shit, the girl was just gorgeous!  
Right, where was he? Ah, yeah, get going and muck around the farm a bit.

Sliding off the gate he remembered that as yet he'd had no time going to the doctor to remove the thorns in his badly bruised musculus gluteus maximus. Perhaps he was lucky and Dr Jones was still in the house. Yep, indeed he was. Though it posed the tricky question of how he was to mention his plight while the man was standing surrounded by Jane, Bingley and Mrs Bennet, all looking concerned.

Good grief, how seriously ill was Lizzy?  
It took only a couple of words for him to realise that while Jane was also concerned about her sister, it was more the general situation of it all that had her look so worried, while Bingley was simply his usual compassionate self and it was only Mrs Bennet who seemed inconsolable at her daughter's indisposition and even more with what that meant for her...  
'Oh good grief, what is to become of us all? We will all starve in the hedgerows! Our whole livelihood is at stake...'  
She really was a fast thinker, wasn't she? When had it been that her husband had had his accident? Darcy wasn't entirely sure, but it must have been in the spring from all he had gathered. Well, to come to such a realisation within only a couple of months was some achievement. Not.

Seriously, no-one could be that daft, could one? Okay, never mind, it was a rhetorical question.  
'Dr Jones, may I have a word with you?' he managed to ask, at last.  
The elderly man looked short of retirement, seemed a bit shrewish but in general appeared competent enough.  
'Sure, what is it?'  
'In private, please? It's a bit delicate...'  
Oops, that came out wrong somehow and consequently, everyone now stared at him curiously and in Mrs Bennet's case also with some suspicion.

He would not be surprised if he heard he'd contracted a venereal disease somewhere along the way that was too embarrassing to speak about in _polite_ society.  
'Last night I had an accident and I would like for you to have a look at the affected area...'  
Right, that hadn't made things any better in the slightest. If anything, Mrs Bennet's curiosity had peaked.  
'I took a bit of a fall,' Darcy carried on and at last the interest of the lady of the house was waning.  
Good!  
'So, my boy, where are you hurt then?' Dr Jones inquired jovially as soon as they had retreated to the dining room to which Jane had shown them.  
Wow, what a pretty room, actually. Whatever one might say against Mrs Bennet, it could not be said that she had bad taste in furnishing nor had he ever seen her badly dressed.

Ha, and there were people saying he was overly critical... - Nope, he was very well able to see the good in people. If there was any, that is.  
Still, glancing at the polished surface of the lovely Queen Anne dining table his brain immediately conjured up images of him bending over it with his trousers down, while the pragmatic old doctor pulled out the bothering thorns. Seriously, that was slightly disturbing, to say the least. What was worse was the thought that someone might come in. And it was not even an unlikely event if he thought about it a bit more.

Okay, no more thinking for today! It didn't get him anywhere and was bound to disturb his peace of mind.  
'As said, I had the misfortune to fall,' Darcy stammered, ' more precisely, I fell bottom first into a rosebush...'  
'Prickly little bastards, rosebushes, aren't they?' the man grinned, looking over the rim of his glasses with sparkling blue eyes.  
Darcy could not help but chuckle: 'Yes, indeed, but at least it looks worse than I, which is some consolation.'  
Admittedly that was not exactly true, the sodding rosebush had already looked worse for wear before he had fallen into it.  
'So, I presume your accident left a couple of souvenirs in your buttocks?'  
'Yep.'  
'Ah, come now, no pretty young lady who would be willing to help you with that, young man? Right, what a stupid question. You wouldn't ask a seasoned country practitioner if there was. Well then, lift your kilt.'  
'Pardon? - Oh, of course, the Scottish way of saying "drop your pants".'  
'Exactly!' Dr Jones beamed, while Darcy reluctantly obliged. 'Went there last month for my daughter's wedding, you know? Traditional Scottish, of course, after all, one only marries once in a lifetime, or twice or so...- Anyway, my wife still thinks it was a bad idea to try and attempt to do a handstand, but I swear at the time and after a quarter of a bottle of Whisky it seemed just the thing to do... - Ah, there is one of the little buggers!'  
'Ouch!'  
'And there is another one and a third. Could you just bend over a little more, please? Oh, and turn yourself towards the window so I can see better?'  
The window? No way!

He had taken great care that his privates were well covered by the backrest of one of the chairs should someone dare come in, while his backside was turned towards the fireplace. He would _not_ , under _any_ circumstances, turn a blank bottom towards the window. Neither Mrs Bennet nor her two youngest daughters were to be trusted not to try and sneak a peak of what was going on in their dining room.  
'Can't you use one of the candles?'  
Why did the doctor look at him weirdly all of a sudden? Oh, okay, open mouth insert foot once more.  
'I mean for light, seeing that I haven't got a torch on me and the chandelier is obviously insufficient. I kind of would prefer not to moon towards the window.'  
'Only if you promise not to fart, laddy,' Jones answered wagging his finger in reprimand.  
'Obviously, since I am not very keen on adding burn blisters to my other injuries.'  
'Good, candle it is then. Truth be told, I would not put it past Fanny Bennet either to snoop a bit. She is a bit on the nosey side and she _loves_ to gossip.'  
Phew, okay, at last someone who understood him.  
'Is everybody this crazy around here?' Darcy could not help asking.  
'Yep. It's a requirement to be allowed to move here. Ha, and another one. - You know, thorns in the backside are perfectly normal in comparison to what I am often faced with around here. Only this morning I was called in to resuscitate a budgie. With little success, I might add. That poor creature had started to smell already which is why I think it drew its owner's attention in the first place. And last week I had to free a man's body part from a toaster. I leave it to your own dirty fantasy what part of him was trapped in there aside from his right hand that is. Whatever you come up with, is likely to be correct. - So, I think that's it.'  
Oh dear and thank goodness!  
'By the way, is Elizabeth alright?'  
'Absolutely dandy, actually. Merely knocked out by a dose of Night Nurse, nothing more. No idea why she took it since it is obviously meant to be taken in the evening, but my guess is on that nothing else was in the house. You know, Mrs Bennet likes to take precautions as soon as she sneezes. Anyhow, Lizzy will be back on her feet in no time. A bit of rest and a hot water bottle and lots of tea and all will be well. You know there is little one can do with a cold. One just has to bear with it. And having a temperature isn't such a bad thing either, it means the immune system is doing its job. If the fever is getting too high cold compresses around the calves are the best way to deal with it, but Jane knows that, of course.'  
'Just out of curiosity, have you ever tried alternative medicine on Mrs Bennet?'  
'Yes, but I haven't told her. And the placebos I gave her for her nervousness work absolutely fine, I am proud to say. At least once she takes them. Sometimes I think she really enjoys to be in a flutter.'

No shit?

Walking back down towards the farm to see what needed to be done, Darcy was surprised to see Kitty and Lydia standing a little forlorn in front of the barn, both wearing wellies, but otherwise dressed in their finest. Either held a pitchfork and shovel in their hands but seemed uncertain as to what to do with them.  
'But mum said we're to clean the pigsty...' he heard Kitty say to her younger sister. 'We can't just go into Meryton instead.'  
'Yeah, you're right, not in our wellies. But what about those damn pigs? I mean how do we get them out? And how are we to clean the stables with all the shit in there? Do we have to take that out, too?'  
Hm, as far as he knew, that was the point of cleaning stables, he might be wrong. What did he know?  
'Hi Mr Darcy, do you know how it works with cleaning the stables?' Kitty asked as soon as she spotted him, and he could not help thinking that perhaps she really wasn't so very bad, though perhaps too easily influenced by her youngest sister.  
'How's he supposed to know?' Lydia sighed in exasperation, rolling her eyes.  
'Perhaps because I am a farmer by profession?' he shot back, already regretting having listened to the little angel instead of his buddy Beelzebub.  
'You?'  
Now both girls gaped at him open-mouthed.  
'What did you think I did for a living?'  
Not that he really thought that they had given it any thought at all, but it would be interesting to see what they would come up with.  
'Hm, I thought you were some kind of businessman like Charles,' Kitty answered almost immediately while Lydia only shrugged her shoulders as if she couldn't care less.  
Well, presumably she couldn't.  
'So, what are you two doing here out in the farmyard then? I mean aside from wondering how to clean a pigsty.'  
'Oh, mum sent us here. Said now that Lizzy is ill we'll have to do our share. - As if we...' Lydia started but was interrupted by Kitty, who suddenly seemed to recall that in a family there were not only rights for them, but also obligations.  
'... as if we'd know what to do. Dad never lets us help. Always says we're too silly and in his way. So honestly, we've no clue what to do. Could you please help us? I mean show us how to?'  
'If he's showing us how to...' Lydia started, but again was interrupted.  
'... we would be very glad. Seriously Lydia, was it not you who said our family affairs were none of his business?'  
'Well...'  
Lydia's expression clearly showed that that greatly depended on the situation, meaning whether it suited her or not.  
'Now take your bloody pitchfork and get going,' Kitty ushered her on.  
'If you are not careful, Kitty, it will be literally a _bloody_ pitchfork!'  
'So, I take it neither of you has the foggiest of what needs to be done and how?'  
'Nope.'  
'Great! Well, but at least you know that it is a pitchfork you are holding, which is something. And you are even holding it the right way down without stabbing your feet, which is also a good start.'  
'Are you taking the piss?' Lydia asked indignantly, while Kitty seemed slightly amused.  
'Yes, as a matter of fact I do. Two girls growing up on a farm not knowing how to clean a stable is fairly ridiculous, if I may say so. By the way, Lydia, taking out the shit is exactly what it means to clean a stable and since that is so, I would suggest you go and get changed unless what you are wearing is last years fashion.'  
'Hey, my shirt is brand new! Cute, isn't it?'  
'No. I greatly object to "Hello Kitty" even if the shirt itself is as black as my soul, however, if this abomination is new I suggest you take it off.'  
'Pervert!'  
Did he imagine it, or did she actually look kind of flattered?  
'Not in front of me, you nitwit. Your dad stores some work overalls in the locker over in the milk chamber and I greatly suggest you change into them. There! Without me present!'  
'And how do _you_ know there are overalls?' Kitty wondered, and admittedly rightly so.  
'I helped your sister the other day, while Bingley was chatting up Jane. By the way, you'll also find work gloves and various baseball caps in there, I recommend you put them on, too, lest you soil your hair. Better be safe than sorry. You know, just in case the shit hits the fan and it flies everywhere.'  
'But those clothes will be far too big for us,' Lydia whined in a last attempt to get out of helping all the while looking slightly disappointed that he was obviously so not interested to see her in her undies.  
'With that inflated ego of yours I am more worried that they turn out to be too tight,' Darcy pointed out completely unfazed.  
Hell, that little chit was really an annoying piece of work.

But nope, he would not let her get away from her duties and perhaps, only maybe, she would start appreciating her older sister and all the hard work she did for them. Okay, probably not. It still would be fun to see her shovelling pigshit with her well-manicured hands and he would definitely not tell them about the mini-tractor.  
'Wanker!'  
'At least I know what to do with my hands and how to do it to satisfaction.'


	21. Chapter 21 - Rake-Snake

_Chapter 21:_

 _Rake-Snake_

'There, are you happy now? Hell, I look like a complete trollop,' Lydia wailed, though actually, her appearance had somewhat improved.  
Okay, the one thing she actually didn't look like was a trollop, though Darcy doubted she actually knew the meaning of that word since for once in her life she was decently covered from head to toe.

Smurf would have been a better comparison as she stumbled around the farmyard in the washed out blue mechanic's overall her light blue wellies with the white fluffy clouds and the rainbow adorning the toecap, all nicely finished off with a white baseball cap... Even her voice seemed to fit her over-all appearance. Shit, what was the name of that whiny smurf again? Ah yes, Grumpy Smurf. Well, if one crossed him with Clumsy Smurf the likely result would be Lydia Bennet as, presumably in an attempt to show him how unsuitable she was for this kind of work, she ambled around the yard as if she were a chicken looking for worms and maggots.

Well, she would find the latter in abundance when mucking out the stables.  
Where there were pigs, there was shit, where there was shit, there were flies, and where there were flies, there were maggots...- Ah, he looked forward to seeing her reaction.

The little joys of life were always the best, weren't they?  
Kitty fared a little better, for at least she'd had the sense to firmly tuck her trouser legs into her boots and roll up her sleeves.  
'Are you not getting changed as well? I mean these are the clothes you wore last night, right?' Kitty asked.  
'Nope, the clothes are ruined anyway, so a little dung won't make much of a difference and besides, Bingley has bought a new washing machine.'  
Kitty shrugged her shoulders, grinned widely, pitchfork and shovel in hand again and waited for his instructions with surprising eagerness.  
Seriously, he started to be fairly impressed with her. If it weren't for her doltish younger sister and her influence, Kitty had the potential to be a nice considerate girl. She almost reminded him of Georgiana - shy, a little lost and sensitive, but also easy to impress and perhaps a bit flaky. In short, an ordinary teenager with an unfortunately very influential hag for a younger sister.  
'Shit!' Lydia suddenly cried out, holding her nose, tearing him from his musings.  
Ah, the far-famed English rake-snake had struck.

Why people would leave rakes on the ground prongs pointing up, was beyond him, but it was not as if he had not made unexpected contact with a wooden handle himself once in a while.  
'My nose is broken,' Lydia sobbed as blood dripped from her beak.  
However, it was nothing that a hanky couldn't fix. Unceremoniously he handed her one and then picked up the sneaky bugger of a rake. Rake indeed. How very rakish to assault a lady that way!  
'But I can't work like this,' the girl whined on.  
'Trust me, you can. Now, be a good girl and take your pitchfork, the piggies are waiting.'  
'But what if they draw blood and attack me?'  
'You wish. But believe me, they won't. They might be pigs, but they have some pride, you know? Just stuff a bit of tissue up your nostril and you'll be fine.'  
Grumbling Lydia did exactly that and fetched her pitchfork, which took her surprisingly long. Actually no, it would have been more surprising if she had _not_ dawdled around in order for him and Kitty to start already, so she would have as little to do as she possibly could get away with.

Ha, he knew exactly what to do about it...  
'Kitty, why don't you start with the chicken coop?'  
It was less messy and besides currently unoccupied. If he had to make a guess, it would take Kitty twenty minutes tops to clean it. Half an hour with putting in fresh straw and perhaps filling up the drinking trough and feeder.  
'Okay. Do you want me to take out the eggs as well?'  
'Please.'  
And with another nod, off she went in search for a wheelbarrow she could use.  
'Does that mean I have to do the pigsty on my own?' Lydia asked, looking gobsmacked.  
She had finally arrived back on the scene, presumably sensing that if she took any longer the end of her stick would get stickier and stickier.  
'Yep.'  
'And you?'  
'Oh, I won't be idling around, if that is what you are worried about. I will get the cowshed ready. Ah, the benefits of a mini-tractor...'  
'Wanker!'  
'Oh come now, I thought we've already established that I am good with my hands. No need to pay me another compliment. But thank you anyway.'  
Angrily huffing, Lydia trotted towards the pigsty, grumbling something along the lines of life being unfair and her being horribly abused and that this kind of work would completely ruin her fingernails, which admittedly were rather impressively long and impractical. But heck, if it meant the polish would flake off, that was a decided bonus. The bright orange she had doused her nails in, looked like it was meant to dye a reflective vest or a traffic cone.  
'And now?' sceptically she glanced at the bristly little buggers calmly mucking around in their sty with not a care in the world. 'How do we get them out of there?'  
'Simple, you don't.'  
'What?!'  
'See that rail there? You just get them to one side, then fix it like that,' Darcy explained, taking the rail and attached it to the fastening while at the same time ushering the pigs onto one side.  
Heck, in older stables there wasn't even such a partition and one had to make do with the pigs being all over the place while their sty was being cleaned. This was a comparative luxury, really.  
'And now?'  
'May I introduce - Lydia pitchfork, pitchfork Lydia. Mr Pitchfork could you please aid Miss Lydia in shovelling the shit into the wheelbarrow? Thank you very much!'  
'Do you think I am a complete idiot?'  
Was that a trick question?  
'Not a _complete_ idiot...' Darcy answered carefully, quickly ducking just in time before the first load of manure landed on his face.  
Also, a thing he had some experience with.

Okay, then it had been him who had been flying not the shit and unsurprisingly a not unsubstantial amount of alcohol had been involved but somewhere he had heard it was supposed to make smooth skin. It was worth a try and decidedly cheaper than most facial creams, and it didn't smell as horrible as most of them did and on top of that, it was organic, what else could one wish for? Admittedly, the colour didn't go very well with the shirt he was wearing at the time, but the tan had looked more natural than the streaky orange Gloria usually displayed.

But speaking about dumb blondes, there was yet another problem to solve, for currently Lydia carelessly shovelled the manure over the partition and onto a bunch of befuddled looking pigs.  
'What the fuck are you doing?'  
'Cleaning this side of the sty, what else, idiot?'  
Yeah, if she ever fell off a roof, she would have to ask for the way down in order to not get lost...  
'May I just point out that if you shovel everything over there, you have to dig it out twice? I mean, why not put it into the frickin' wheelbarrow?'  
Lydia just stared at him blankly. Good grief, shovelling pigshit could not be that difficult, could it? Okay, apparently it could.  
'Right, let me point out the obvious, you now shovel about two thirds of the total amount of manure over to that side, so there will be three times as much shit over there by the time you have finished here than was before, meaning you have to shovel _all_ of it again, increasing your workload by about sixty-seven percent, if you bring it up to full figure, that is,' Darcy sighed.  
He really should consider a career as a maths teacher...  
'If you can do it better, be my guest,' was her snappish reply.  
'Nice try, but remember, I have a date with the mini-tractor. The cowshed awaits me.'  
Walking out of the pigsty he wondered if it was really safe to leave Lydia on her own, but seriously, if she was too dumb to shovel shit from one place to another that was her own fucking problem.

Climbing onto the mini-tractor he set it back and then went to clean the stable and was done with it, just when Kitty returned from the chicken coop, a basket of eggs over her arm. He had seen her put the wheelbarrow as well as the pitchfork where it belonged and there was little need to check on her work for he was certain that she had done a decent enough job.  
'I'm all done, Mr Darcy. What now?'  
'I would say we go and eat something and then I have to go over to Netherfield as well to see if my horses are cared for and once I've taken care of that, I'll come back over and help with the milking.'  
'You really like Lizzy, don't you?'  
'I... - Well...' Darcy stammered, not knowing what to say.  
It wasn't really that obvious, was it? Every decent neighbour would lend a hand in such a situation, wouldn't they? Sure enough back at home in Derbyshire they would. When one of his neighbours had broken his arm in an accident, he had taken care that his fields were ploughed and the crops planted and he had sent over one of his farm-hands to help his wife with the animals. All of this was perfectly normal.  
He was relieved from answering, however, when Kitty asked: 'And what about Lydia?'  
'Oh, once she's finished, she can follow us.'  
'Well, fair enough...' Kitty shrugged and set off towards the house.  
Darcy, on the other hand, could not help himself but check on Lydia.

Admittedly she had gotten a move on and the wheelbarrow was literally overflowing. Not that that bothered her in any way as she had started to shovel the manure onto the floor next to the wheelbarrow completely disregarding the fact, that it was blocking the one door through which she would get out of the pen as it was opening towards the outside. On the other hand, he had to give her that, she had managed to get the pigs to the other side of the sty and firmly secured the bar again so they would stay out of her way. Or perhaps one of the pigs had taken care of that to ensure that Lydia stayed firmly away from them, one couldn't be so sure. It was a strong possibility.

It was actually not that he thought her to be daft, but rather ignorant and idle which was actually worse. If you hadn't had a brain to use, that was fair enough, if you had one and simply chose not to use it, that was inexcusable.  
Taking a bee-line via the chicken coop, he found he had been right in his assumptions. It was clean, fresh straw had been put in, water was filled up as was the feeder, in short, all was in perfect order. Kitty had every reason to be proud of herself, and she hadn't even whined once.

Darcy was halfway over to Longbourn House when he heard a distinct cry for help. Apparently Lydia had, at last, realised that she had trapped herself in the pig pen, but bloody hell, did she need to sound so very hysterical?  
'HELP!'  
Bloody hell, he hoped she had not injured herself...  
Running back to the stables he came to a panting halt, staring incredulously up at her ashen white face.  
'Take it away, please!' Lydia begged, sounding like a scared child.  
What the heck was she on about? There was nothing there.  
'RAAAAAAAT!' she screeched, nodding towards one of the corners while holding onto the wooden beam.  
Oops, yeah, admittedly, he wasn't very fond of these little rodents either. But how the deuce had Lydia managed to clamber up into the rafters? And so quickly?  
'Take it away!' she almost cried and for the first time he actually felt sorry for her, spoilt brat or not, he would not have her scared.  
Fear could be conquered, he knew that well, but it took time. He, for example, still didn't like large crowds very much, but seriously, what he felt nowadays was nothing in comparison to what he had felt when he had been a boy. Being sent away to Eton had been his version of hell on earth. The overcrowded refectory, in particular, had made him feel uneasy to an extent which made him feel physically sick and it had taken him weeks to adjust enough to be able to eat anything without losing his stomach contents straight away again. Well, at least his cousin Richard had taken care that no-one taunted him about it and eventually he had made some friends and suddenly everything had seemed much less daunting.  
But as much as he would have liked to catch the nasty little bugger and take it away so Lydia could climb back down from her perch, he knew very well that there was little chance of it. They were fast and sneaky and thankfully fairly small, well able to hide behind this or that.  
'Lydia, first of all, try to calm down. It won't do anything to you, I promise. Where there are animals, and animal feed, there will always be rats, I am afraid. I'll ask your sister if your father keeps a trap somewhere and then put it up if that is any consolation, but for now, you will have to come back down before you take a fall. Okay?'  
'But what if it jumps at me?'  
'Then I'll kick its butt. Or challenge it to a duel if you prefer.'  
'Very funny,' she snapped, though the corners of her mouth started to twitch ever so slightly.  
'Well, see it that way, Lydia, if I win, you are rid of the rat, if the rat wins you're rid of me. It's a win-win situation, really. So come now.'  
'I don't know how...'  
'Same way you got up there?'  
'I am not sure how I did it, I just did.'  
'Yeah well, I have been wondering. It's not all that high, so I think it'll be safe to jump. I mean, this pile of shit comes in quite handy, don't you think?'  
He pointed at the large pile of dung in front of the door through which she would have had to pass otherwise.  
'You can't be serious!'  
'Why, isn't that what every girl wants? Come now, all that is at stake is that overly large ego of yours, and seriously, that can do with a bit deflating.'  
With an exasperated sigh, Lydia clambered the few yards over to the dungheap and then, taking a deep breath, did actually jump landing buttocks first on the smelly pile.  
'Well, it was soft...' Lydia mused, looking fairly surprised. 'But now I'm full of shit.'  
Did he imagine it, or did she actually sound relieved? And even a tad grateful?  
Reaching out his hand to help her up Darcy could not help remarking: 'Lydia, you've been full of shit even before you jumped right into a pile of it, so never mind. At least you can be certain that no-one will doubt that you have done what you were supposed to do. And may I point out, that you would have had to climb out the pen anyway since you blocked your exit?'  
'Oops.'  
'So, come now, let's have some tea and later on, as soon as I am back from Netherfield, I'll show you how to drive the mini-tractor and you can finish your job, okay?'  
'You just never give up, do you?'  
'No. Did you really think I would let you off the hook?' he couldn't help asking.  
'Not really, but it was worth a try. Mum always lets me get off, you know?'  
Now, really? Who would have thought?


	22. Chapter 22 - Daddy's little rascal

_Chapter 22:_

 _Daddy's little rascal_

'Er, Lizzy, what are you doing?' Jane asked bewildered as her sister began stirring trying to scramble out of bed.  
'Getting up, duh? Shit, what time is it?'  
'Around four, why?'  
With a relieved sigh Elizabeth sank back down onto her pillows.  
'Good, then I have another hour or two before I need to get up and milk the cows.'  
'No, it's been taken care of. Mum has insisted on Kitty and Lydia helping and...'  
'What?' Elizabeth all but shouted, throwing aside her blanket. 'Then I need to go over asap before they bring the whole place down.'  
'No, you don't, Lizzy,' for once in her life Jane sounded exasperated despite her kind, reassuring smile. 'Everything is all right and in perfect order. Kitty cleaned the chicken coop earlier and is currently mowing the lawn, Lydia, after cleaning the pigsty with a pitchfork, is now getting instructions on how to drive the mini-tractor for when she has to clean the stables the next time around and the cowshed has been done as well and Mary has volunteered to help with the milking as soon as she's done with her homework.'  
'And on top of that you have... - Wait, you were here all the bloody time. Don't tell me mama is giving Lydia driving lessons on the tractor. Does she herself even know how to drive that thing?'  
'Oh, mama has gone to the pharmacy and she said something about wanting to make you a chicken broth so she might be a while.'  
Sure, especially since the pharmacy was only a stone's throw away from Mrs Philips...  
Then another dreadful thought occurred to her and sitting up in bed once again Elizabeth breathlessly asked, obviously fearing the answer: 'Jane, please tell me it's not Charles showing Lydia how to drive the mini-tractor. I mean, I think he is a great guy and all, but...'  
'But he should stay away from a tractor no matter the size. Lizzy, I might be in love with him, but I am not blind to a person's shortcomings, and as long as it is him driving a tractor, I think I can well live with that. No, he's away on business for the rest of the day, so calm down, it's not Charles showing her how to drive, or rather how not to, Mr Darcy does. He's been very kind, you know?'  
OMG! Time to call Quentin's Funeral Home. There was a strong possibility that Mr Darcy had throttled Lydia by now, or her youngest sister had given him a heart attack or alternatively a stroke. Either way, it was very unlikely that both of them should come out of this alive, just who would be the survivor she could not possibly say, for they were fairly evenly matched.  
'Lizzy, please stop panicking. I know you had to carry all of this burden on your shoulder for months on end, but at the moment you really need to rest. And only that!'  
Well, Jane had a point. She needed to be back on her feet once Jane returned to London and Mr Darcy would not stay here forever either. Wait, didn't he want to leave today?  
A knock on the door ripped her from her thoughts. Not that weariness had not been about to do so anyway. Bloody hell, how could one be so tired after having just woken up?  
'Ah, you are up, my child!' Mrs Bennet chirped a tray in hand and a bag from the pharmacy dangling from her wrist.  
She had obviously returned from her mission. Odd, Elizabeth had not expected her back before six, but then again, she hadn't had the foggiest when her mother had left to go to the pharmacy in the first place and perhaps their aunt had been out, which consequently would have cut her trip short.  
'I thought you might be,' Mrs Bennet prattled on, busily putting down the tray on the chest of drawers by the window, the furthest possible spot for Elizabeth to reach it, 'and that you could do with a bit of food. And see whom I have brought with me? When this young man heard you were ill he immediately said how sorry he was and I thought, well, why should he not come and visit? Visits are always so beneficial to one's recovery, aren't they?'  
No, they were not! And please, please, please don't let it be Penny! - No, thank goodness...  
At first, she was relieved to see George Wickham step into the room, carrying a cheap looking bunch of red roses and then suddenly she felt annoyed. Very annoyed! Really, it was not that they knew each other that well. Not after one bloody chat in the pub and a short exchange of words last night again at the pub.  
'How are you, sugar?'  
How about: "About to throw up from all the sliminess?"  
'Dandy, thank you. Just idling around a little, acting the drama queen,' Elizabeth replied archly, reaching for Jane's hand so her sister would not get the very stupid idea of leaving.  
'It's a role that suits you well,' Wickham remarked, in what she assumed was to be a gallant way.  
He did miss his mark by several inches, if not yards.

Bloody hell, did he really think that women fell for this crap? Okay, he had been pleasant enough to talk to, but seriously, suddenly his drawl was nothing but annoying, especially when her head was pounding so.  
'If there is anything I can do for you my beauty,' he carried on, undeterred by her unnerved expression.  
How about leave?  
'Hm, let's see... - The stables need mucking out and...'  
Ah, goody, his face fell. As nice as he was, there had been something about George Wickham that had seemed at odds with what he had said. It had been nothing but a hunch, but people could be too friendly and complying, couldn't they?  
'...and the fence needs repairing, and then there is the...'  
'That was not what I meant, actually...'  
Of course, it was not. Surprise!  
'I mean, I would willingly do so, but I am afraid that I have to report for duty in half an hour and I still need to get changed.'  
Yeah, sure and that was just a pig flying past the window...

Asking people to shovel shit was apparently a good way of separating friend from foe.

Okay, that would mean she could consider Mr Darcy a friend unless he had some kind of weird fetish she didn't know about.  
With a rather hectic gesture, the young lieutenant dumped the flowers on her bedside table, saluted shortly in a mock military style and then made a run for it.

Ah, the one thoroughly good thing that had happened today...  
'You could have been nicer to him, you know?' her mother immediately started scolding her. 'Ask him to muck out the stables? Now really!'  
'Well, you apparently don't object to Mr Darcy doing so. But honestly, you could have left George Wickham right where you found him, mum. Seriously, what did you bring him here for?'  
'Well, first of all, it's a completely different thing asking Mr Darcy to help out on the farm and in regards to George, I spoke to him in the pub when I picked up Kitty and Lyddy last night and he seemed truly concerned for you, especially considering your delicate condition...'  
Bloody hell, her mother managed to make it sound as if she were pregnant.  
'And I thought since you were good friends, you would be happy to see him. He is quite handsome, don't you think? And so polite and well behaved, so very different than your Mr Darcy! The nerve of him to scold me so! But what have I to say? If you like him well enough, that's fine with me. So, at any rate, I think I have to forgive Mr Darcy whether I like it very much or not, considering everything. I am quite resolved that I shall not hold it against him.'  
Ignoring the comment about Darcy being hers she replied tiredly: 'I thought you had already forgiven him?'  
'Oh, I have, I suppose. I mean, after all, he was nice enough to offer his help, which he bloody well ought, leaving you like this. And I am not so ungracious as to not appreciate him for that. At least one thing he seems to do right then. But he has a tendency for rudeness that is not easy to overlook, I have to admit. Still, considering everything, I have to say, his protectiveness over you is perhaps not to be wondered at...'  
Hm, actually, the more she knew of the man, the more she got the idea that he had a tendency for blunt honesty which she was beginning to feel quite refreshing.

But honestly, what was her mother on about, she seemed to speak in riddles. Protectiveness? Okay, yes, he had sounded protective, if she thought about it. Odd, actually.  
'I spoke to Rosy about it, and she quite agrees that he should not have spoken so, but that he must have meant well.'  
Ah, okay that explained a lot. A chat with aunt Rosy was always good to find out things about oneself one had not known before...

Okay, so she had been over to see Mrs Phillips after all. So back to, why was Mrs Bennet back already?  
'But at any rate,' her mother added, 'your aunt wishes you all the best and is asking whether you need anything? I promised her not to say anything, but, ah well, my love, she said she would be quite willing to pay for the pram.'  
'Okay, that's nice of her... - Wait, what? What pram? What would I need a bloody pram for?'  
Had she not firmly lain in her bed, Elizabeth was sure she would have fallen out of it.  
'Well, for the baby, of course! What a stupid question? Oh, I am so happy, I am going to be a grandmother...'  
Okay, she was ill, and she had a temperature, surely she was hallucinating. It was the only reasonable explanation there was for her mother to say such things. The woman in front of her was nothing but a figment of her imagination and for some reason, she thought she was pregnant, though heck, by whom? Right, hallucination, remember? No need to argue with something as unreal as that.  
Turning her head towards Jane she became faintly aware that Jane, too, stared at their mother in utter disbelief.

What the fuck was going on?  
'It was lucky that I first went to see Rosy, for otherwise, I would have bought you medication that might be bad for the little one. But the pharmacist ensured me that all this stuff is perfectly safe to take during pregnancy. And I have to admit, that I could not quite resist buying this. Cute isn't it?'  
Oh great, not only was she apparently pregnant, but it would be a boy... - Ah, but of course, the only other immaculate conception she had ever heard of had turned out to be a boy as well, so the conclusion was surprisingly logical if one thought about it.  
'What? Do you not like it?'  
With some concern, Mrs Bennet still held up the little light blue baby-body saying in dark blue letters "Daddy's little rascal" with a rocking horse underneath it.

It was cute, kind of, if perhaps a tad tacky, but alright it would look sweet on a little baby, no two ways about it. And after all, there were worse things than this thing and at least it didn't sport glittery unicorns pooping rainbows or this ManU or Chelsea rubbish one got everywhere nowadays to potty train even the littlest into buying fan merchandise right from the time they exited the womb.  
'Mum, I'm sorry, but...'  
'Oh, don't be sorry my dear. After all, many people have children nowadays without being married and it's not as if you will have to give up your studies, for I will be perfectly happy to look after your little rascal and I dare say Mr Darcy will be just as supportive a father...'  
'Mr Darcy?' Elizabeth blurted out in sheer disbelief.  
'He is the father, right? Rosy said he was.'  
'No! Mum, I'm not bloody preggers!'  
'I know it is a lot to take in, and when I was pregnant with Jane it took me a couple of weeks as well to come to terms with soon being a mother. But I came around eventually. You know, a mother always knows and with you being sick all of the time and decidedly moody, there is little use denying it, Lizzy. I know it is called morning sickness, but really, it can strike any time of the day.'  
'Mum, I threw up _once_ and that was last night when I wasn't feeling very well anyway after a slight débâcle at the pub and when I had a drink on an empty stomach _and_ on top of that came down with a cold. Now, it's not unheard of, that that can upset one's stomach, is it? In short, mama, I am not pregnant. I have not been bitten by the stork. I have not been knocked up, have none in the oven, am not with child nor am I in the family way. Period!"  
There was no use explaining that she was moody because she felt slightly left alone with all the work she had to do while everybody else seemed to care sod all that their livelihood was at stake.  
'Talking about periods, Lizzy, I haven't seen you buy any sanitary items off late.'  
'That's because I've started using a cup.'  
'That's disgusting!'  
'A menstruation cup, mama. It's reusable,' Jane, at last woken from her stupor, explained sounding decidedly dazed and mildly bemused.  
'All this newfangled stuff drives me insane. Reusable? Really? Well, during my time we were happy enough to throw our pads in the bin.'  
Then she looked woefully at the little baby-body in her hands before, with a smile she remarked: 'Ah, well, I presume you will need this stuff soon enough, Jane.'  
'Mum!'


	23. Chapter 23 - Udder mayhem

_Chapter 23:_

 _Udder mayhem_

Of course, what had he been thinking? He had almost forgotten about Lizzy's boyfriend, but there he was, arriving alongside Mrs Bennet with a bunch of flowers to visit Elizabeth. And not just any flowers, no, red roses actually, though they did look rather pathetic.

Damn, why did he have to walk over to the house just now and spoil his fantasy that perhaps, eventually, one day, she would see his merits and become his girlfriend, wife, mother of his children?  
Really, what did she see in that guy?

Okay, okay, yeah, he was jealous, stupid as that sounded, even to him. Then again, some women liked arseholes, hoping to turn them around. Sure, take a self-centered bastard, invest all your love in him and voilà the result will be the perfect man! - Not.  
But seriously, what boyfriend who really cherished his lady-love, would bring such a sorry looking bunch of red roses bought at a bloody petrol station? Right... - Aside from that Darcy was pretty sure that Elizabeth preferred wildflowers.

At any rate, his opinion of, what the heck was his name again? He had heard it at one point or other, but could not remember, not that it mattered, so never mind. Anyway, his opinion of that bloke had sunken into depths as yet unknown, making the Big Hole at Kimberley look shallow in comparison.  
'See, I told you so,' little Lucifer popped up on his left shoulder again, while the little angel on his right was moping, her arms crossed defiantly over her chest.  
Was it okay to just punch the little trouble-maker into silence and then make a hasty retreat back to the farm or better even to Netherfield? Oops, Satan obviously could read minds, for in an instant he was gone again and before he could silently and most of all unnoticed sneak back to the stables, Mrs Bennet had spotted him and with an ungracious wave of her hand beckoned Darcy to come into the house. Sod's law! Figures.  
Admittedly, in all likeliness, she didn't mean to appear offensive, for she was laden with various bags and boxes hampering her every move and that wanker she might call son-in-law one day didn't even offer to help! Yeah, of course... - Big Hole/Kimberley, remember?  
Relieving her of most of the bags Darcy let her open the front door. If he ever needed a cuppa, it was right now.

Wait, what? Nappies? And why the heck was she beaming at him like that? Oh shit... No!

Okay, no, he would not jump to conclusions. There was no reason to assume that Elizabeth was the one who was pregnant. After all, there were _five_ young ladies in the house and Mrs Bennet herself wasn't so old as not to be able to have another one... - and perhaps she had visited her husband lately and... - who knew?

After all, that was pretty much how his sister had come into being. Menopause was a treacherous bitch. So much so, that his mother had been already five months pregnant before she even realised it. But no, there was yet another thought he didn't really want to finish.  
'Are you looking for something?' Mrs Bennet presently asked him, hanging her coat on the hook behind the door and holding out her hand for the other man's jacket to hang it likewise. Thinking about it, why did she not hang the jacked with that idiot still inside? All it took was a little loop around his neck and he would be tidily stored where he was in nobodies way.  
Right, what had it been again he had gone up to the house for? Ah yes, to get some tea. Okay, his main objective had been to check if Lizzy was feeling better, though cunningly he had told Lydia that he was fetching them a cuppa and if the excuse was good enough for the daughter, it was good enough for her equally silly mother, wasn't it?  
'Ah, righty, you know where the kitchen is, don't you? Just take what you need, and if you could put these bags just on one of the chairs or the table, that would be great. Cheers! Oh dear, all the things I still need to get... - But thankfully there is still some time, so no need to hurry, right? So, I just quickly pop upstairs and see how Lizzy is, I just need to put the soup I got for her in a bowl. Thank goodness I thought of stopping at the pub to get something for her to eat. But oh, she will be so surprised, I am sure. Who would have thought? - Come, come, Lizzy will be so happy to see you, don't be shy.'  
As soon as she had quickly taken care of the soup, she almost shoved her companion, aka cheap-skate wannabe cavalier, towards the stairs, but then, on second thought, pushed him aside to take the lead quickly reaching for the bag from the pharmacy, the tray with the soup on it swaying somewhat precariously, leaving Darcy with his cargo of mainly baby things behind. Just like that.

Shit, how much stuff did such a wee person need? And it was not, as if she was even showing yet. He had seen it clearly once she had taken off her coat. Nothing. Nada! Not the slightest hint of a bump. Okay, then perhaps it was for a friend...

Bloody hell, why was he thinking of babies all the bloody time all of a sudden? It was not as if it was any of his business or that he wanted one right now. No, not at all. In approximately nine months from now would be perfectly sufficient for all he was concerned.  
'Do you know that you've got dung underneath your shoes, mate?' startling him, Lizzy's boyfriend asked with a lazy grin on his face, turning to go after Mrs Bennet, but lingering behind a bit.

Right, Mrs Bennet, as she was now, was best compared to a rubber ball, bouncing up and down. One moment she was here, the other there and then gone, only to pop up somewhere completely different.  
"And if you are not careful, you'll have dung in your face, buddy!" Darcy thought to himself, while only huffing in acknowledgement that he was well aware of that fact. After all, that he was wearing wellies should have given the dolt some idea where he'd just come from: the fucking farmyard. Duh!  
But as if that simple and idiotic statement wasn't enough already the fellow had to add: 'Alright, I thought it might have escaped you. It happens so quickly, you know, you walk along a country road and before you know it, you've stepped into a pile of horse dung. Disgusting! I had that pleasure only a few days ago when going over to the base to report for duty and literally slipped on bloody horse droppings. Almost fell, you know? You can't imagine how my bike looked afterwards, or my trousers and shoes for that matter.'  
Ah, thank you, Hermes! Good boy!

Buying that horse had been worth it already. But wait, what? To the base? Report for duty? He was a military man? Fuck me sideways! It didn't appear as if the chap had the balls for it. Not even the marbles or peas or grain of millet for that matter, but as a rule of thumb, women liked men in uniform, so that might have been a good enough motive for this idiot.  
Alright, he was good-looking but something was definitely lacking, something fairly important like character, for example. And why the heck did he sound so sickeningly whiny all of the fucking time? Seriously, even Lydia didn't sound like that permanently. Only when it suited her purpose. But this man?  
But why wonder? Why even be bothered when apparently no-one else was?

Still, that Elizabeth had such bad taste in men, he wouldn't have thought, and yet, it was obvious that she and that bloke were a thing. Well, some women, as said, had a thing going for men in uniform, and some even for arseholes in uniform, while introverted men in rubber boots and worn out jeans were not exactly high on that imaginary list. Not at all, Darcy knew that all too well.

'Are you coming George?' Mrs Bennet ushered him on, making Darcy almost grateful towards her.  
Putting down the bags, he put on the kettle and brewed two mugs of tea, quickly checking on Kitty who was currently weeding the garden by hand, bless her. He quickly made a third mug and brought one out to her before slipping out of the house again.

Bringing back the two mugs of tea he handed one to Lydia, who to his great surprise had made quite some headway with clearing out the manure while he'd been away and was now happily sweeping the floor to get it clean again before swiping everything onto a shovel as if she had done this kind of work all her life. Wow, who would have thought?  
'I'm done, I think...' she mused, looking at her handiwork and Darcy had to admit, that she had done quite a decent job of it.  
'Right then let's take a break.'  
Startled she gasped: 'What, we're not done yet?'  
'Almost, but no, not quite,' he sighed.

Since his return, he felt tired. Very tired.  
Shrugging she took the offered cup and sat down carelessly on the wheelbarrow right in the middle of the pig poo. Good girl!  
'Hey, what's the matter?' Lydia asked at long last, knitting her brows at his frowning face he was well aware he had donned.  
'Nothing.'  
'Oh, come now, you look as if you have a rain cloud hanging above your head. If you look any more miserable I will have to call you Eyeore. - By the way, how's Lizzy?'  
'How would I know?'  
'Hm, I just thought since you went up to the house...'  
'Your mum just came back from town, bringing back Lizzy's boyfriend, so I didn't have a chance to ask. They headed straight upstairs.'  
'Lizzy's what?'  
'Boyfriend. You know that tall chap with the light brown hair. The soldier.'  
'What, George is here? He's a cutie, isn't he?'  
Of course, why the heck did he expect some kind of sensible answer? At least he now had a name he could write on a slip of paper and pin to his dartboard. A photograph would have been even better, but hey. Or thinking about it, a voodoo doll for that matter. Nothing like a bit of needlework.  
'Hm,' was all his reply, while he sipped on his tea.  
'By the way, he isn't Lizzy's boyfriend...' Lydia added casually. 'I mean, if he were, he wouldn't be snogging Mary King, would he? Damn, I thought they would screw each other right in the middle of the pub last night just when we were leaving. Had a nice chat with him before he hooked up with that tart. I mean, she isn't even very pretty with all her freckles and red hair, but each his own, I'd say. Truth be told, I wouldn't mind him snogging me, but I really don't need to see him doing another girl.'  
Wait, what? He wasn't Lizzy's boyfriend?  
'Really?' he blurted out before he could help himself.  
Grinning knowingly Lydia replied: 'Yeah, really. Kitty and I find him drop dead gorgeous, but Lizzy likes men to whom she can talk. As if men want to talk all that much... - I mean, when in the middle of it, would you want to talk about something?'  
Nope, probably not during, but certainly before and after...  
'I don't think your sister meant while they are at it, Lydia, but that isn't the only aspect of a relationship, is it?'  
Now she looked puzzled. Bloody hell, either he was hopelessly romantic or she mistook sex for love. At least she seemed to contemplate his words.  
Shit, was he seriously sitting here with Lydia Bennet speaking to her as if she was a normal human being and not one of the flakiest girls he had ever met, expecting anything of any sense coming out of her mouth? Apparently yes. This surely must be rock-bottom.  
'No, I presume it isn't. But seriously, I for my part, don't want any serious relationships at the moment. Too much hassle, you know? But that doesn't mean I can't have a bit of fun,' was her cheerful reply.  
'You mean sex?'  
Again he had blurted the words out before it dawned on him that perhaps a fifteen-year-old was not the right person to ask such a question.  
'What else?' she shrugged unconcernedly.  
'Lydia, you are fifteen!'  
Gods, hopefully, his sister didn't think along the same lines... - No, he would not go there!  
'And?'  
Shaking his head Darcy replied: 'Oh, never mind.'  
He was certainly not going to have the "sex talk" with her. It had been awkward enough when he had to broach the subject to Georgiana a couple of years back when she'd hit puberty.

Okay, he had tried to find some suitable reading material for her but that hadn't stopped his then twelve-year-old sister from asking how big it really was when "fully inflated" - Georgie's words, not his. Bless her innocence!

Lydia, however, was another matter. First of all, she wasn't his sister, and secondly, he would presumably end up learning things from _her_ and not the other way around.  
'I mean, can you imagine, that two hundred years ago it was normal for a girl my age to marry? Dad keeps the family chronicle in his library and I had to look up a couple of things for a school project last year and what can I say? My great-great-great-great- and so forth grandfather married a girl of only fourteen! Okay, he was only nineteen himself, so I guess it isn't exactly cradle-robbing, but you get my point,' she chattered on, the tea in her hand slowly but surely getting cold.  
Did he? Not really, if he were honest. Still, he was fairly impressed that she apparently was interested in history. Who would have thought?  
'I mean, when it was okay for our ancestors to romp around so young, why shouldn't we?'  
Okay, for a moment he had almost been deceived and thought her to be quite intelligent after all...

But seriously, how could she fail to notice the wee difference between romping around and marriage?  
Then there was the minor factor, that two hundred years ago the life expectancy was considerably lower than it was today, that the child mortality was massively higher and that it was, even in rich families, not unheard of, that from ten children only one or two survived. Not to mention all the mothers who died in childbed. That and, of course, the fact that marriage had little to do with romance and much to do with business and security, the latter mainly for the women. Marriage was a serious thing, and the wedding vows were to be taken literally. In for a Penny, in for a Pound.  
'And besides, we've got contraceptives today, so what's the risk?' Lydia still prattled on undeterred and oblivious to his growing discomfort.  
No surprise there.  
But right, what was the danger? Considering the alarming rate of teen pregnancies, and the equally disturbing amount of STD-infections fairly high, he would say. But before he could mention anything along those lines, she had finished her tea in one big gulp and scrambled back to her feet.  
'So, what now?'  
What? Lydia eager for work? His head was close to starting to spin. Who was this girl and where the heck had she left Lydia Bennet?

Silly, sensible, silly sensible, silly sensible...  
'Well... - the cows need to be brought back inside and then we need to milk them.'  
Now there, at last, was safer ground. Cows were much easier to understand than a girl in the middle of puberty.  
'Oh, sure. I'll just quickly go and fetch Mary then, shall I?'  
All Darcy could do was nod, rendered speechless.

Ushering in the cows, he was just busy tethering them, when the girls returned and between the three of them, they made quick work of it. At first.

Okay, Lydia and he presumably would have but had he initially thought Lydia to be hapless when it came to farm work, Mary really took the cake. Her morris dance performance at the ball should have been a giveaway if he thought about it.  
'Right, is it just putting these things on?' she asked, holding up the milking unit, looking fairly comical with the one-legged milking stool tied around her waist so tightly that it would be of no use at all.  
Talking about a stick up someone's arse this was presumably exactly how it would look like. Like Vlad, the Impaler had fucked up big time.  
'On the udders, yes...' but before he could point out that the udder had to be cleaned first and that the stool would serve her better if it was slightly dangling underneath her bottom so she could it actually sit on it, it was too late.  
'Sur.. - oops!'  
She _had_ sat down, or rather tried to and had managed to end up on the floor. Of course...

Yeah, that could happen to everybody, really, but it was perhaps not such a good idea to use one of the tails within her reach to pull herself up. No, actually, it was a very stupid idea.  
Mooing loudly, the cow voiced its protest at such treatment and with a curt swoosh, hit her tail right into Mary's baffled looking face only to lift it straight away, in what Darcy was sure was a mocking manner, and did its business. At least Mary had the sense of closing her mouth and eyes as quickly as she could, which in her bewilderment wasn't all that quickly.  
'Shit!' she gasped as soon as she had managed to get out of the danger zone, wiping her face.  
She could not have put it more accurately, he presumed. Seriously, this had been one of the shittiest days in... - okay, after Monty and his band of misfits, him getting arrested last night, okay, this was the shittiest day in about ten hours. Day's apparently were getting shorter and shorter.  
'I think you might want to wash your face,' Lydia pressed out between bouts of laughter.  
To that, Darcy heartily agreed. Not so much because he cared for her cleanliness, but to have her out of the stables, before she would cause more mayhem. Udder mayhem, so to say.

'So, we're done for today,' Darcy, at last, declared wiping his hands on the back of his trousers.  
'Thank goodness. Bloody hell that was exhausting!' Lydia grimaced, rubbing her back, though her winging had lost some of its intensity and actually she was grinning quite proudly.  
'You've done well,' he praised her and was surprised at her reaction, for never in his life would he have thought that she would unabashedly give him a hug.  
'Thank you!'  
'What for?' he couldn't help wondering.  
'For taking me seriously. No-one does, you know? I always get away with everything, just not with you - or Lizzy and Jane. But then again, mum always tells them they should let me be. I've always been the baby of the family. Its a bit like a curse I can't shake off.'  
Baby... - Oh no, not again! Not down this road dear thoughts, it leads to nowhere.  
"But George isn't her boyfriend...," two voices whispered in his ear. At last one thing that Angie and little Lu could agree on. Shit, now it was official, he was going mad! He was hearing voices, he started to like Lydia Bennet, though only as a potential younger sister, and he thought about babies, or at least about practising to make them. He was fucking doomed!


	24. Chapter 24 - 'Will Ugust Tom'

_Chapter 24:_

 _'Will Ugust Tom'_

Yeah, when ill one has to rest, sleep as much as possible, but alas, there is this one point, usually at an ungodly hour very early in the morning, when one's body decides that now it is time to wake up, all be damned.

In Elizabeth Bennet's case it was impossible to judge what time it was, since her curtains were drawn and her alarm clock, in order to make space for a tea tray had been moved over to the mantelpiece along with a lot of other clutter that had surprisingly found its way into her room over the past day - like her mum's handbag (she would certainly be looking for it all over the house a little later on...), two mugs of tea, a bath bomb, whatever it did in her room instead of the bath where it clearly belonged...- oh, yeah and the neatly folded baby body her mother had given her.  
With a small sigh, Elizabeth contemplated whether it was worth getting up to use the loo at this point, or whether it was better to wait for another half-hour and rather read a little instead when she suddenly heard someone walk up the stairs and along the corridor.

Okay, walk was not exactly the right word, it was more like sneaking along the passage, once in a while stopping as if to listen if everybody was still asleep. Damn, that was creepy! Was it a burglar? Or had either Kitty or Lydia sneaked out at one point during the night and now made their secret return? Both options were a possibility if she were honest.

Right, better be safe than sorry...  
Pushing her blankets aside, she swung her legs over the side of her bed and then sneaked over to the fireplace to arm herself with the poker before tip-toeing over to the door trying to open it as soundlessly as possible.

Sure, piece of cake... Not. Her door had always creaked, no matter how much WD-40 had been applied or how much she had tried to file away from the hinges that they simply fit better. All had been in vain. As a matter of fact, it sounded worse than ever. Figures!  
Peeking around the door, all Elizabeth could see, was the shadow of a person just now entering the small coffee-kitchen her father had built into an unused linen closet when his eldest daughter had been on the way, to make it easier for his wife.

At the thought of her father, a smile crossed her face.

Now someone was rummaging around said kitchen, indicating that, after all, it had been no-one but either her mother or one of her sisters desperate for a cuppa. The only mystery was, why they had sneaked along the corridor so stealthily when normally they could not be loud enough? And what had they done downstairs? Why, if downstairs anyway, not use the kitchen there? Ah, well, why try to explain the unexplainable? It might be nothing more than getting some tea-bags or milk after all.  
Since she was up now anyway, Elizabeth guessed, she could just as well dash across the corridor and take a wee before slipping back into bed.

Ha, a decision that had decided for itself!

Ouch, turning on the light would have been an idea, but why do so when the little toe was just as adept at finding one's way around in the darkness by infallibly bumping into every piece of furniture on the way?  
At switching on the light in the bathroom, at first she squinted at the sudden brightness before hobbling over to the toilet. Her pinky toe sported quite a bit if she were honest and considering that the bathroom usually was a minefield of stuff like toppled over shampoo bottles, dirty towels and laundry baskets, being able to see was of the utmost importance. Sorry, little toe, no more work for you here.

Her pain soon subsided and when her eyes, at last, got used to the glare, Elizabeth's jaw dropped. Right, how could she have thought her mother had left it at one bloody baby body? There, on the old chest of drawers that held the fresh towels sat a packet of nappies, a stash of wet wipes, a teething ring, a baby towel, a rattle and three, _three!_ bottles of baby shampoo. Presumably a buy two get one free offer, but seriously, this was ridiculous!

Oh, and the obligatory rubber ducky had found its way onto the rim of the bathtub, of course...  
And all just because she had thrown up in front of her aunt. Once!

Bloody gossips! She wondered whether she was already secretly married without her own knowledge. Shit happened. So she could well be married to Mr Darcy.

Yeah, right... - Oops, was that a pig flying by just now? Again? It looked as if it would rain, seeing that the pigs flew so low lately.  
Making her way back to her room to try and sleep a little more, Elizabeth was still deep in contemplation about what else her mother had bought for her non-existent grandchild, for she did not dare doubt, now that she had seen what she had bought already, that this was all, when she arrived there. Okay, it was not as if the way was all that long, and still, it was not something she should have to think about in the first place, was it?

So deep in thought was she, that she didn't see the person sitting on her bed in the darkness, which was only relieved slightly by the small night light in the corner.  
'Ah, there you are, Lizzy,' a deep voice greeted her, a decided trace of sarcasm in it.  
It was a very familiar but thoroughly unexpected voice.  
'I thought I'd make us a cup of tea and we have a little chat before the rest of the house wakes up and mayhem will ensue. I have to admit that I already dread your mother's reaction...'  
Well, mayhem most certainly would ensue, Elizabeth thought to herself, as yet unable to speak. And equally certain was, that her mother would go into hysterics.  
'You are very quiet, Lizzy.'  
'Sorry, Papa, but you are really the last person I expected to find sitting in my bedroom. How on earth did you get here?'  
'I opened the door and stepped in.'  
'Papa!'  
'Right, I took a late train from Truro to London and from there hired a car,' Mr Bennet explained off-handedly, though the amusement in his voice was hard to ignore.  
'But your back...'  
'Never mind my back, Lizzy, it is much more important that you have some relief from your duties. It will not do to endanger the baby, will it?'  
'What?'  
With a thump, Elizabeth landed on the floor bottom first. Was there a single person on this planet her mother had not told about _the baby_? Presumably not. Fuck!  
'Yes, Lizzy, your mother told me. I have to say, I was fairly surprised that you, th emost sensible of all of my daughters, were the one to get knocked up by some random guy. But we are all allowed our share of foolishness, I'd say. So, when am I to be a grandfather?'  
There was no way telling whether Mr Bennet really believed in her being pregnant or not, after all, he knew his wife well enough to be aware that occasionally her imagination ran away with her. Oh, and that she had been eager to be a grandmother pretty much as soon as Jane had first started her period...  
'Dad, I hate to disappoint you, but you are not going to be a grandfather. - Yet.'  
'As far as I'm aware it takes nine months anyway,' he replied with a smirk that even in the darkness was hard to miss from the tone of his voice.  
'I'm not pregnant and there is little chance of me becoming so any time soon if that is any consolation. I know mama thinks otherwise, but I assure you, there is nothing to this rumour. I am merely ill and that is all.'  
'Hm, if that is the case it is still a good thing I came back home. But Lizzy, why do you sound so woeful when assuring me that you won't be having a baby anytime soon?'  
Shit, she had completely forgotten just how perceptive her father was. Most of the time he seemed detached only to astound his family with his very accurate observations when they least expected them.  
'I'm not woeful, dad. I am just annoyed that mum went around seemingly telling everybody who would stand still long enough to be told, that I'll give her her first grandchild. I mean, she's even started to buy baby-things straight away before even speaking to me, can you believe it?'  
'Easily.'  
'Cheers!'  
Scrambling back to her feet, Elizabeth was about to turn on the lights when Mr Bennet stopped her: 'No, don't. You know, darkness makes a person speak more freely. Come, sit by me and have your tea before it gets too cold and then you can tell me all about how things are going.'  
Handing her the cup, her father reached for her forehead and found that his favourite daughter was still slightly feverish.  
'All is well, I think. Kitty and Lydia helped with the stables yesterday and Mary helped with the milking as far as I know.'  
'Are you sure the stables are still standing?'  
'They were not alone, of course, so yes, I am sure, though I would not be surprised if the one or other cow has been traumatised...'  
Mr Bennet chuckled: 'Ah, I see you are already on the mend. Good! Actually, I already checked on the farm as soon as I arrived about an hour ago and everything seems to be in perfect order. You've done well, my child. I am very proud of you, and grateful.'  
'Thank you, papa.'  
'AH, never mind. But back to the question why you sound as if you actually regretted not being pregnant...'  
'Dad, I'm not regretting that at all,' Elizabeth sighed adding in her mind: "But I would not mind it either if I had his baby."  
Damn, even in her thoughts she found it hard to admit that she was in at the deep end when it came to Mr Darcy. And bloody hell, she still called him that! "Mr Darcy". Not Fitzwilliam, not Darcy, like Bingley did, no, it still was prim and proper " _Mr Darcy_ ". And still, here she was thinking about having his child.  
'Are you having trouble with your boyfriend? If so, let me tell you that a baby won't fix what is broken.'  
That he partly spoke of his own situation was unmistakable and unsettling.  
'I haven't got a boyfriend, so there is nothing I need to fix.'  
'You know, sometimes you are too stubborn for your own good, my child,' was her father's puzzling response as he got up to leave. 'On occasion, you are almost blinded by it. But for now go back to sleep and rest a little more, I won't be returning to Cornwall and perhaps, in good time, I'll manage to motivate your younger sisters to help me so you can take some time off. Hm, thinking of it, I am quite surprised you managed to do so. Well that _and_ that the farm has not been burnt down in the process.'  
And with that, he was out of the room and had not his cup still stood on her bedside table Elizabeth would almost have thought that all of this just now, had been nothing but a dream.  
'It wasn't me, who motivated Kitty and Lydia,' Elizabeth whispered to herself, thinking of her two youngest sisters beaming faces as they had bid her good-night last evening.

When Elizabeth woke up again, the whole house was in an uproar. Surprise!

In short, it was nothing but an ordinary morning. How her two youngest sisters could ever sleep in with all the racket that was made at this time of day was beyond her for even as she trudged down the stairs groggily she could hear her mother's raised voice and when she entered the kitchen she found Mary sitting at the table with milk spilt all over her as she had apparently tried to pour herself some with her nose, as always, buried in a book.  
'Oops... - Sorry, mum.'  
'Oh really, isn't it enough that Kitty and Lydia had to dash out of the house to let out the chickens before going to school? I don't know why Jane agreed of their coming along, really. And she still needs to pack... - And now you have to make a right mess! All this hectic so early on is grating on me and you know that very well!'  
Okay, miracles happened. Who would have thought that her sisters would get up early to take care of the chickens? She could have sworn they were still in bed, but apparently, she had been wrong.  
Getting up Mary managed to throw over her over-flowing glass of milk, now making a real mess as the white liquid dripped onto the floor.  
'Mary!' Mrs Bennet screeched, as she was in the habit of doing whenever something was accidentally going wrong, and then, as was to be expected, pressed the back of her hand to her forehead in a theatrical manner, exclaiming: 'Oh, my poor nerves! None of you has any idea what I suffer. None!'  
'You are mistaken, my dear. I have a high respect for your nerves since they have been my old friends these past, oh, shoot, are we really married that long? Twenty-five years,' an amused voice sounded up behind them, making them all startle.  
'Papa?!'  
All of his family present stared incredulously at Thomas Bennet, who, though a bit too rigid, stood and walked as if nothing had ever happened to him while his wife carried on complaining: 'No, you do not know what I suffer, Tom. _You_ always take delight in vexing me!'  
And then, suddenly she realised that her vexing husband actually stood in the middle of the doorway, grinning mischievously.  
'I admit, I do. Not that it is much of a challenge, but it is amusing nonetheless.'  
'Amusing? Amusing! - Now really! What are you doing here anyway?'  
'I live here, my dear, have you forgotten?'  
'No-no, that is not what I mean. I mean why are you back already?'  
'Hm, I was beginning to feel too content down in Cornwall. In short, I started to get bored. - Why are you so keen on getting rid of me again? Is your lover in the house?'  
'Lover? Codswallop! Of course, he isn't'  
'Where is he then?'  
'Who?'  
'Your lover?'  
'Oh, Thomas! See, girls, that is exactly what I mean. Your father always teases me beyond sanity.'  
'Now, that I can hardly do, my dear, for there have to be certain requirements to do so, you know?'  
Tom Bennet, was such a mixture of sarcastic humour, quick wit, and caprice, that a quarter of a century of being married to him, and even longer since they had first met, had been insufficient to make Fanny Bennet understand her husband. Okay, that was not to say that he actually understood her, for truth be told, if one looked closely, he was just as clueless in regards to his wife as she was in regards to his character. A perfect example of a mismatched couple too lazy to file for a divorce.  
On the other hand, however, they got along well enough and considering that they had five children together, must surely mean that there was some form of attraction between them.  
'No, but really dad, how come you are back already? I thought you were supposed to stay in Cornwall for at least another four weeks,' Mary asked quietly after her mother had slumped down on a chair with affected weakness.  
'Oh, nothing serious, I can assure you. Neither did I get thrown out, nor did the clinic burn down or the like, but I had a rather enlightening telephone-call from your mother, who seems to have forgotten all about it...'  
He glanced up at Elizabeth with a conspiratorial twinkle in his eyes, the only acknowledgement he made that he had already spoken to her.  
'So, when's the little one arriving?' he beamed at his wife as he carried on to make himself a cup of tea.  
'Well...' she stuttered.  
'What, is it already here? Oh, Lizzy, I have to see my grandchild! Is it a boy or a girl?'  
'Well...' Mrs Bennet tried to explain her mistake.  
'Oh, is it both?'  
'Nonsense!' Fanny Bennet blurted out, for a moment forgetting her attempts at admitting to her blunder. 'A baby can't be both.'  
'So it's twins then? A boy _and_ a girl?'  
'Well...'  
'Ah, I see, at least it is well, whatever it is. What's its name? Perhaps that'll clear things up a little bit.'  
'Will you just...' Mrs Bennet made yet another attempt at explaining the situation and even though the joke was kind of at her expense, Elizabeth could not help being thoroughly amused by the scene unfolding before her.  
Damn, she had really missed her father!  
'"Will" is acceptable, but whatever possessed you to call the poor boy "Ugust"? Shouldn't it be "August" or "Augustus" anyway?'  
'Tom!'  
'What? How many names has the poor kid to deal with?'  
'There is _no_ baby!' his wife at last blurted out. 'Lizzy is not pregnant after all, though she could very well have been...'  
'Of course,' Mr Bennet smirked and then retreated to his study.


	25. Chapter 25 - In need to go potty

_Chapter 25:_

 _In need to go potty_

Darcy had been fairly surprised to find that when arriving at Longbourn, that the chickens had already been let out and the eggs collected, that the pigs had been fed and that only the cows still needed looking after. So, Kitty and Lydia had indeed kept their word and done what they said they would. Who would have thought?  
Feeding and milking the cows he was about to usher them out of the stable when he suddenly heard someone approach, the gravel of the farmyard scrunching under the newcomer's feet.

The man crossing the yard in steady steps, though with a slight limp, was middle-aged, fairly tall and rather wiry in a way that showed he was, despite his comparative slenderness, used to hard physical labour. He wore a pair of washed out corduroy trousers of undefinable colour, olive coloured wellies and a wax jacket of the same muted shade over a red-checkered and fairly wrinkly shirt. It was safe to assume that he was one of the Bennets' neighbours, most likely another farmer. Though what he was doing here, Darcy had no idea.  
'Good morning, Mr Bennet,' the man addressed him in an amused voice, smiling broadly and reaching out his hand.  
Wait, what? Okay, he had guessed wrongly, it seemed. It was obviously not a neighbour for they surely would have known that he was not Mr Bennet.  
'I am afraid...' Darcy began slowly, trying to gather his wits and hide his confusion, but was promptly interrupted by his mysterious visitor.  
'Oh, no need to be afraid, Mr Bennet, I am perfectly harmless, if perhaps a bit cheeky.'  
'That might very well be, but I am not...' he tried again, but to no avail.  
Chuckling the man continued: 'Well, I am glad you are not cheeky likewise, for otherwise, this conversation could be a very tedious one indeed, don't you agree?'  
Definitely!  
'It is tedious enough as it is, seeing that you don't let me...'  
'Finish your work? I am so sorry, but I will be gone in a moment, Mr Bennet.'  
'I'm not Mr Bennet, Sir!'  
'Oh?'  
The man acted surprised and it was only now that Darcy realised that he somehow looked familiar. Not that he had seen him in person before, but he had seen him in pictures. More precisely, he had seen him in several framed photos that hung in Lizzy's room. Of course, he must be... - Ha-ha, very funny!  
'As you very well know, Mr Bennet,' he, at last, replied, reaching out his hand to finally take the man's offered one. 'Fitzwilliam Darcy, Sir. I am a friend of Mr Bingley, who has recently bought Netherfield Park and...'  
'And while there you managed to get my daughter Elizabeth pregnant. - I see.'  
'What? - No! I...- I only met her last week and...'  
'As far as I'm aware that is more than enough time to accomplish the deed, Mr Darcy. - No, there is no use denying it. My wife says so and so does her sister and by now the whole of Meryton and the surrounding villages will know as well.'  
'But...' Darcy was speechless.  
Goodness, so all the baby-things _had_ been for Lizzy? She really was having a baby?! Well, if that was the case, it was most certainly not his. As far as he was aware dreaming, no matter how real his fantasies had felt at the time, about making love to a woman didn't get her pregnant, did it? And wind-pollination didn't work on humans either, he was pretty sure of that. Something didn't add up. But what?  
'Yes, I was surprised as well, and so was Lizzy when she first heard it from her mother,' Mr Bennet grinned widely, slapping him on the shoulder in a jovial manner.  
Okay, that was even more odd, considering that he was supposed to have gotten his daughter with child within a week of first meeting her...

Had it been Georgiana, he would have the chap's guts.  
'I have to admit, I can't quite follow you, Mr Bennet, but I can assure you that if your daughter is expecting, it is not mine,' he, at last, managed to stammer, sweat breaking out on his forehead.  
His emotions were in a turmoil, firmly trapped between bemused, shocked, indignant, angry, sad, disappointed, hopeful... - and some more too tedious to distinguish.  
'Shame,' Mr Bennet shrugged, though the twinkle never left his eyes, 'you seem like a decent enough fellow. Much better than the usual kind my wife tries to throw at our daughters. By the way, call me Tom. Everybody does and despite owning Longbourn House, which has been in the family for generations, I am not much of a country squire, am I?'  
'Not really, but then again, how does a country squire look?'  
'Supposedly like the folks posing for Horse and Country or Gardens Illustrated. You know, all pristine even when kneeling in the mud. Seriously, if I ever find out what they are wearing, I'd buy it, for it would save my wife a lot of trouble getting the stuff clean _and_ keep the repairman fixing our washing machine twice every year out of the house...'  
Yeah, well, what was he supposed to say to that? For the sake of promoting his business, he had been featured in pretty much every magazine there was and Mr Bennet most certainly had a point. Just thinking back of how the pictures _had_ been taken made him cringe still. They had even gone so far as to bring a hairdresser for the horses and dogs and it had been a miracle that he had been allowed to mount the horse by himself instead of being hoisted up with a crane in order to not get his attire in disarray. The most satisfying part had been when they had taken pictures of his horses, all neat and polished up and the first thing his breeding stallion had done was run onto the paddock and roll in the sandpit getting himself all nice and dusty and throw the photographer into near hysterics.  
'I can assure you, Tom, that they don't look like that on a day to day basis either.'  
'You speak from experience?'  
'Unfortunately yes. It's what people want to see. Not the mud and dirt that comes with that kind of life.'  
'I think you might have a point there, Mr Darcy.'  
'Just Darcy.'  
'Not Fitzwilliam?'  
'Hell, no! It is, unfortunately, a family tradition that the oldest son is named after his grandfather on his father's side and since that has been going on for generations, I am stuck with this abomination of a name.'  
'It could be worse...'  
'Yes, I could have been named after my mother's father.'  
'And what was he called?'  
'Balthazar.'  
'Oh shit!'  
'So, with that in mind, I should think myself lucky. But truth be told I would have been perfectly content with a more boring name such as John or William. Ironically, Fitzwilliam was also my mother's maiden name.'  
'No escape for you then?'  
'Not in the least. My parents thought it to be perfect. - So, you are back.'  
'Obviously.'  
Hm, what was he supposed to say? The man looked a lot better than he had imagined, considering that he had heard that he was still bound to a wheelchair, or at least struggling to get out of it completely.  
'I see what you are thinking, Darcy, and yes, I admit that I led my wife to believe that I was still worse off than I really was.'  
'And your daughters as well.'  
It was impossible to keep the reproach out of his voice completely.  
'Yes. It was for the better, believe me.'  
'The _better_?'  
'Had they known, I would never have had the chance to recover in peace and as for Jane and Lizzy, they are such bad liars that I simply couldn't confide in them without them giving away my secret.'  
Okay, there was definitely nothing he could say in reply. He was simply lost for words. How could a father, in good conscience, leave his family in the dark about his recovery? Have them worried about his welfare and their future just to have a couple of weeks of peace and quiet?  
'So, are we bringing out the cows?'  
'Yes.'

For the rest of the morning they didn't speak much and when lunchtime came, he and Tom Bennet made their way over to the house for something to eat. They arrived at the house just when a large Argos-lorry pulled out of the driveway.  
'Seems my wife has been shopping big time again...' Tom mused, eyeing the departing van with some trepidation. 'Well, let's hope for the best and cross our fingers that she has merely gotten a new mattress for Lydia's bed or a new dressing table for Kitty, but truth be told, my gut tells me otherwise. So, be prepared for the worst, my boy! Fanny can be very efficient when she chooses to and if she had the help of her sister, this can turn out to be very interesting. Brace yourself, my boy!'  
And sure enough, they had barely stepped through the door when a whole array of crates boxes and bags greeted them, all unmistakably containing nursery furniture and toys and clothing and God knew what.  
Resisting the urge to run, Darcy remained rooted to the spot while his companion saw through the array of things before:  
'Fanny!' Mr Bennet hollered, shaking his head in exasperation. 'Fanny, what is all this stuff?'

Wow, despite his warning, Mr Bennet seemed to be shocked regardless. That was saying a lot.  
'Oh, why are you yelling so? It's obvious, isn't it? It's all the stuff I thought we'd need for the little one.'  
'And pray, explain to me, why one baby would need three bloody beds? _Three_! Were you expecting triplets or something?'  
'Oh, codswallop! Don't be stupid, dear. One is a bassinet for when they are very small and one bed is for upstairs and the other for downstairs, of course.'  
'Of course. Naturally. Why do I even ask? Perhaps because we happen to have _two_ cots up in the attic, neatly stored away for when the grandchildren arrive, alongside a regular pram _and_ a tandem one.'  
'But they are so out of fashion, Tom, you can hardly expect the girls to still use them for their children.'  
'Whyever not?'  
'It would make them look silly.'  
'They can't look much more silly than they do most of the time anyway. Well, safe for Jane and Lizzy that is considering that they are the only ones with any sense in the family.'  
'How can you speak of your children so?'  
'Easily, considering that I am merely stating a fact.'  
'If you please excuse me, I just need to go... - potty,' Darcy excused himself before the situation got even more mortifying.  
He had actually wanted to say "wash my hands" when his eyes had fallen onto the colour printed box containing a miniature loo with a silly face meant for potty training and before he knew it, the word had tumbled out of his mouth.

Ah well, never mind, the situation could hardly get any worse than it was anyway.  
'If you go upstairs, you'll find some clean nappies, should you need them,' Mr Bennet remarked, his eyebrows raised in a manner that told him that he was well aware of the ridiculousness of the situation. 'They are for boys, too.'  
'Yes, I know, I carried them in yesterday, though I doubt newborn will fit me.'  
'I'm kind of glad to hear it. By the way, Fanny, does Lizzy know you got all this stuff?'  
'No, she's asleep, why?'  
'Only asking. I think someone should prepare her for what she'll find upon coming downstairs before she suffers a setback.'  
Quickly Darcy turned around to make his way upstairs but was hampered by a large box and a huge stuffed bunny, oh, and a rocking horse and a car seat that had been tucked away behind them on the first step of the stairs.  
'You, Tom, are horrible!' Mrs Bennet cried out, ignoring Darcy and his heightened complexion as he tried to climb over all the items without breaking any of them or injuring himself. 'To make such fun of me only because I made a genuine mistake in thinking Lizzy was expecting. My poor nerves! You never have any compassion for them!'  
Okay, perhaps he should try the downstairs loo. If it weren't blocked by even more crates and boxes, that was. How much stuff did one need for one baby?  
'You would have saved your nerves some flutter if you had asked our daughter about it, dear, or at least waited until she was clearly showing. In a couple of years or so from now.'  
Sniffing Fanny Bennet made her way back to the kitchen and slammed the door shut behind her. It was the only door that wasn't blocked by the one thing or other and slowly but surely what Mr Bennet had just said began to sink in.  
'She didn't take the news of Lizzy not being pregnant easily, I fear,' Tom Bennet turned towards Darcy, giving him a hand to move some of the things out of the way.  
'So Lizzy is not having a baby?'  
'No, of course not. She only had the misfortune to come down with a cold at an inconvenient time and threw up in front of her aunt. The rest is history.'  
'Okay...'  
'Oh, and while you are up there, warn Lizzy, will you?'  
'Sure.'  
'And if, perhaps you could give me a hand to move all this shite out of the way? I'll see later on if I can have it returned.'  
'Or you could put it in the attic...'  
'Hm! - I could also open a shop for baby stuff by the looks of it. But I fear my own wife would be my best customer then.'


	26. Chapter 26 - A cause worth fighting for

_Chapter 26:_

 _A cause worth fighting for_

There had been some ruckus downstairs, but Elizabeth was too used to the house being in a state of uproar at regular intervals to be much concerned by it and now that her father was back she wouldn't be in the least surprised if her mother had started to tear the house apart in order to give it a deep-clean. It was only when she heard her father raise his voice that she wondered if, perhaps, something else was going on.

Her father, though often taunting, hardly ever raised his voice. If he did so now, it was probably for the better to stay put for the moment. Today she felt much better already, though that might be just to the medication she had taken. Still, lying in bed for much longer was out of the question, and Elizabeth yearned to take her pillow downstairs and bunk in front of the telly for an hour or two and watch some crap. Just the ordinary rubbish that was on during the early afternoon. Hm, or perhaps a documentary, in order to not kill off more brain cells than was strictly necessary.  
Someone walked down the corridor and a moment later again stopped at her door. Her father, most likely.  
There was a knock and then a tentative voice asked: 'Elizabeth, are you awake?'  
Okay, that was most certainly _not_ her father. Gods, how was she to face Mr Darcy of all people after her mother's revelation yesterday? Well, hopefully, he didn't know anything about the assumptions that had been made. It was her only hope.  
'Yes, I am awake and just getting up, Mr Darcy.'  
'May I come in for a moment?'  
'Sure, I am decent, if that is what you are worried about.'  
Right, decent was a bit of a stretch considering her Winnie-the-Pooh jammies. She looked ridiculous, but it was her most comfy pair of pyjamas, so sod it. Plus, they covered her nicely.  
'I wasn't. Not really, that is,' he answered as he opened the door and stepped in looking dishevelled and flustered. 'How are you?'  
'A lot better, thank you. And also thank you for all your help, Mr Darcy.'  
'Good, but please, there is no need to address me so formally all of the time. I mean, you call Bingley by his first name and...' he trailed off as if he didn't know what else to say, or how.  
Oddly enough, his offer at the same time pleased and disconcerted her. It was not that she didn't consider him as much of a friend as Charles, and yes, she had been wondering about still calling him Mr Darcy, but it was just that with calling him in a more formal manner, she had managed better to keep her budding feelings at bay. It was a realization that hit her with quite some suddenness. It had been a comfort zone. That apparently was all over now...  
'Okay, Fitzwilliam.'  
'No, please _not_ Fitzwilliam! Will or Darcy, if you please. Only Caroline ever calls me _Fitzwilliam_ and with her, I don't care, since she is grating on my nerves this or the other way,' he shrugged, grinning timidly as if something was weighing down his mind.

Something other than Caroline Bingley that was.  
'Right, Will. Are you alright? You look a little confused.'  
'Well, your dad asked me to warn you about some stuff your mother bought...'  
That sounded alarming considering everything that had happened yesterday and this morning, especially if her father deemed it necessary that she'd be warned. Then again, why had Will not run already? Any other man would have, surely.  
'It is a bit much, to say the least, as far as I can tell, but the rocking horse is actually quite pretty. Looks a lot like the one I had as a boy...'  
'Oh fuck! - No!'  
'Oh fuck, yes!'  
'Is it really as bad as I imagine it is?'  
'Worse, I would say.'  
'Good God, how many b... - how much stuff did she buy?'  
Shit, shit, shit! She had almost said "baby-things", but that word had refused to cross her lips.  
'Oh, I have to say, our baby will want for nothing. Wait, let me see, there is a pram, a bassinet, two cots, a changing table, conveniently placed right in front of the stairs, a playpen, maybe two, a cheerful looking potty, a stuffed bunny that is large enough to be mistaken for an elephant if it weren't bright pink, a car seat, a bouncer, and the other stuff I can't remember to be honest. Sorry.'  
'You.. - I... - No! I am not - well you know...'  
'Yep, no worries, your father cleared that up before I made my way upstairs to use the toilet. I was almost stuck using the potty, but fortunately, your dad gave me a hand and I managed to climb across all the purchases currently stacked in front of the staircase. Well, and on it. - Your mum really wants to have grandchildren, doesn't she?'  
'You have no idea, Will. But seriously, how the heck did she manage to organise all this stuff within such a short amount of time? She went to get medicine for me, quickly stopped by my aunt on her way to the pharmacy and there she heard I might be pregnant and voilà - came back with nappies, baby clothes and a rubber ducky alongside some shampoo and wet wipes and now you are telling me she's also managed to clear out half a furniture store?'  
'Argos. And yes, by the looks of it she did. Perhaps she had a ready-made list she only needed to hand in or something.'  
'I wouldn't put it past my mother,' Elizabeth sighed, burying her face in her hands.  
This was so silly, she couldn't even laugh about it anymore. If given the choice she would take Mary dancing any time over this disaster.  
'So, when is our baby not due then? - Oh, and we have to think of names, _not_ to give our baby. I think we should start with Balthazar and Fitzwilliam, don't you agree? Those are both names not to give to a baby, especially one that isn't on its way...'  
It was hard not to laugh at his mock-serious tone.

Odd, he should be equally mortified, but instead, he tried his best to make her feel better. However she had expected him to react, this was most certainly not it.  
'It's not funny!' she could not help chuckling at seeing his expression from between her fingers and at last she dropped her hands again. 'Seriously, now I have to worry that every time I have an upset stomach my mum will assume that I am expecting. I can't even drink any more for fear I might throw up. Not that I drink much anyway, but that fact alone makes it more likely that I end up puking by the end of the night. Sorry, I know TMFI, but it's a fact.'  
'Oh, I'm not fussed. Remember, I'm an older brother and as it is, my sister has thrown up all over me more often than I care to count. Right from the beginning. My mother had just nursed her when I was allowed to hold her for the first time… - Needless to say that at twelve years old I wasn't exactly thrilled. But later on she grew on me and now I wouldn't trade her for the world. And besides, my bread and butter is shovelling shit and mucking around in the dirt, so to say.'  
'Yummy!'  
'Yep. So, feeling better?'  
'Yes, actually I am.'  
'Good. - Prepared to go downstairs for lunch?'  
'Not really, but I will put on a brave face and weather the storm, or rather my mum's shopping...'  
'Do you have hiking boots? You might need to climb a minor mountain to get to the kitchen, but it's not the Eiger north face, promise.'  
'Good to know. - And thank you!'  
'What for?'  
'Warning me. I am not prone to fainting, but that would have been cause for a fainting fit.'

As Elizabeth soon found, Darcy had not exaggerated. The vestibule was large by most modern houses' standards and yet, it seemed to literally burst at the seams with all that was currently stacked into it. Alone the boxes most of the things were packed in, were large and sturdy enough to use as building material for a medium-sized villa. Okay, she had to say as much, the things she could see looked actually quite nice, aside from a few items that were nothing but tacky, like the gigantic pink bunny and the grinning potty. Who the heck could take a dump when a toilet was staring into one's back?  
They found her mother and father in the kitchen, the former crying the latter looking exasperated.  
'What do you mean, you have lost the receipt? You only bought that stuff yesterday, Fanny.'  
He didn't even sound angry, only tired.  
'I know, but it isn't in my bag.'  
'Have you looked in the car?'  
'When was I supposed to do that then?'  
'I'll have a look,' Mr Bennet sighed, getting up from his chair. 'You take care of the food before it burns.'  
His limp had become more prominent again over the course of the day, Elizabeth noticed with some concern. With another sniff, her mother made her way over to the stove and brought the pot over to the table with shaking hands.  
'It's nothing but a bit of stew for lunch, I'm afraid.'  
'Mum, we never have anything other than a simple meal at this time of day,' Elizabeth soothed, wondering where that now came from.  
'Yes, but with Mr Darcy as our guest.'  
Of course...  
'Oh, I love a good stew, and yours smells delicious,' he quickly assured and though it could have been a phrase he actually seemed to mean it.  
In fact, it did smell lovely, Elizabeth had to say, and she had never been very fond of stew. However, chicken stew was one of her favourites, when it came to that and whatever her mother's faults might be, she was a good cook. Elizabeth was just serving them all a bowl of soup when her father returned looking chagrined.  
'Well, it's not in the car either, you were right there, my dear, I hate to admit it.'  
'What are you looking for?' Elizabeth inquired.  
'The shopping receipt to return all this stuff to where it came from.'  
'But the invoice will do, won't it?' Darcy piped up, stirring his soup.  
'I didn't get one. The driver hardly spoke any English as it was and... - Well, the receipt _must_ be somewhere.'  
Good, finding it was definitely a cause worth fighting for, even though she already felt as if both her father and she would be more like Don Quixote and Sancho Panza than Lancelot and Gawain, while her mother made herself quite comfortable  
in her role as damsel in distress.  
'Have you looked inside your jacket?' Elizabeth prodded on.  
After all, the blasted thing could hardly have vanished into thin air, could it?  
'Yes.'  
'How about the trousers you wore yesterday?'  
Please, please, please... - But her mother paled visibly at the mention of her unmentionables.  
'What is it, mama?'  
'They are in the washing machine...'  
Okay, according to Murphy's law, that meant the receipt was in its pocket and also that once it came out of the wash, there would be nothing left of it.

Her father obviously thought along the same lines, judging by his expression, and that Will thought so, too, was equally apparent by his asking: 'Okay, shall we bring the stuff into the attic then?'  
'Do you think your friend might be able to lend us a hand as well?' her father inquired, looking up from his plate. 'By the way, where is Jane?'  
'Over at Netherfield. Charles has asked her to give her opinion on some alterations he intends to make to the building.'  
'So that is what it is called now. Right, perhaps keeping all that stuff isn't such a bad idea after all.'

'Oh, dear me, what is all this crap?' Lydia exclaimed even before she had entered the house. 'Wow, I like that bunny. Can I have it?'  
Wordlessly her father held it out for her and squealing she flung her backpack aside in order to take the fluffy monstrosity from him.  
'Ooooh, thank you, dad. - Oh, you're back!' for a moment she looked puzzled but then pressed the pink bunny into Darcy's hands just as he had been about to pick up the rocking horse and flung herself at her father.  
Okay, that Elizabeth had not seen coming. Lydia, though exuberant, never really showed much affection towards her dad, being a typical mummy's girl. In all fairness, though, Mr Bennet didn't show too much affection towards his youngest daughters either, so that was presumably fair enough.  
'I'm so glad you are back,' the youngest Miss Bennet beamed, while her father didn't quite know what to say.  
'Well, yes, so it would seem,' he at last managed.  
'And what is all this stuff? Is mum having another baby?'  
'No, she just likes to be prepared...'  
'Oh, okay. Shame, I hate being the youngest.'  
And with that, Lydia let go of him, took her giant hare with her and skipped up the stairs to her room, her school things all but forgotten in the middle of the hallway. Not that it made much of a difference since chaos was reigning anyway. Actually, by comparison, the tattered bag with the glittery unicorns looked quite neat.  
'Oh, by the way,' Lydia all but yelled from the top of the stairs, 'Kitty and Mary will be a bit late, but we, at last, managed to convince Mary that she could do with a new haircut and Kitty volunteered to go with her to the hairdresser so she won't chicken out at the last minute.'  
'And you didn't join them?' Elizabeth asked with some surprise.  
'No. I mean I would have, but I didn't know dad was back so I thought you might need my help.'  
'Yes, very likely,' her father mumbled.  
'Oh, she did a great job yesterday, I have to say. Mucked out the pigsty and helped with feeding and milking the cows,' Darcy interjected, once more reaching for the rocking horse.  
'And you have not suffered a nervous breakdown?'  
'I was close, at one point, and so was Lydia, but in the end, we got along quite well, didn't we, Lyddy?'  
Lydia voiced her agreement before slamming her door and Darcy carried on: 'Kitty was also a great help, taking care of the chicken coop, but she eventually left to do some gardening.'  
'Wow! - And Mary?'  
'Well, Mary also put in some effort, and helped to milk.'  
'How did it end?'  
'Well...'  
'In a disaster, I take it.'  
'It could have been worse.'  
'Really?'  
'No. - Lizzy, please, take a rest. There is no need for you to help us drag these things up the stairs and may I remind you that you are still ill. Just because your medication works fine doesn't mean you should be jumping about.'  
'And may I remind the two of you that my father isn't supposed to carry heavy things as yet?'  
'That is why we wait until Bingley and Jane arrive to bring up the really heavy stuff...'  
'...and why I have my arms full of baby clothes and cuddly toys,' her father added, picking up a cushion formed like a doughnut and a fluffy piggy, a little less pink than the garish bunny had been.  
'I can carry cuddly toys just as well as you without exerting myself.'  
'Then, by all means, take this pig and off to bed you go!'


	27. Chapter 27 - Hidden bodies in the closet

_Chapter 27:_

 _Hidden bodies in the closet_

'Good morning,' Elizabeth yawned as she went into the kitchen to have some breakfast and then resume her duties.  
'Morning, my love,' her father greeted her. 'And what are you doing up so early?'  
'I always get up at this time. Why?'  
'Because I think that another day in bed might do you good. You know, in your delicate condition and all,' he smirked over the rim of his teacup, putting aside the newspaper he had been reading.  
'Seriously, the joke is getting old, Papa,' she answered timidly, popping two slices of bread into the toaster.  
'Yes, I presume it is. Shame, I will have to find something else then to tease you and your mother about. Though I guess with your mother it'll still do for the moment. But I was serious about you taking another day of rest.'  
'I'm fine, Papa.'  
'You look like a ghost and a scary one at that. You almost had me scream when you came in. - No, Lizzy, you will stay in bed.'  
'You know, I am not a child anymore,' Elizabeth tried to reason, though she should have known better.  
'Wrong, you are _my_ child and always will be, no matter how old you are.'  
'Right, but I am not a toddler anymore.'  
'Yes, and thank goodness for that. You were a handful. Stubborn as a mule and curious as a goat. Well, not that you ever really grew out of it.'  
A goat? Okay...  
'Cheers, dad.'  
'You're welcome,' Tom Bennet replied with a smirk and then picked up his paper again.  
'Can't I at least do something fun? I mean one can only watch so much Netflix and read and sleep. - And as it is, I have run out of books anyway.'  
'Fun like what?'  
Well, at this moment in time, even darning stockings sounded like a good alternative to bore oneself to death lying in bed. - Or actually, sorting out her wardrobe.

It was something she had put of for weeks now. Not that it had made much of a difference since she had worn her work-clothes day in day out for most of the time and the rest of the time had made do with a pair of jeans and a couple of T-shirts and tops. Her undies were in a sorry state as well, ever since Mary had accidentally managed to put her new green blouse in with the whites. The result was an interesting shade of faded vomit-green that refused to be washed out. Figures, considering that the bloody dye hadn't had any concerns when ruining the rest of the laundry in the first place.  
'You're really bored, aren't you?' her father asked when she had answered thus.  
'You have no idea,' Elizabeth sighed, buttering her toast and spreading a generous amount of jam onto it.  
'Alright, here is the deal: You go and sort through your wardrobe, make a list and come Monday you can go and get yourself whatever you need. Fortunately, I can rely on you not to buy everything the shop has to offer as your sisters would, undoubtedly. And I really can't have you running around in sickly looking knickers. One never knows who'll get to see them after all. - And there is all this baby stuff that no-one needs at present and which perhaps should put to good use.'  
'Ha-ha!' she answered sarcastically, pulling out her mobile to text Charlotte to ask if she had time on Monday.  
'Oops, yes, I forgot the joke is old.'  
Elizabeth had been just about to reply that he was definitely right there when Kitty and Lydia stormed into the kitchen.  
'Morning!' they beamed which in itself was astonishing enough since it was just past seven.  
Apparently, their father was just as surprised to see them up this early for with some suspicion in his voice he asked: 'And pray, what are you two up to?'  
'Oh, we just want to eat something before letting out the chickens and feeding the pigs, why?' Lydia asked unconcernedly as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.  
'You _what_?'  
'Want to let out the chickens, see if they've still got enough water, collect the eggs and then feed the pigs. - And then we can help you with the cows, dad,' Kitty repeated her sister's words.  
With raised eyebrows, Tom Bennet looked at an equally stunned Elizabeth.  
'You... - you two want to help on the farm?'  
'Sure. I mean Lizzy is still sick, isn't she?'  
'Yes,' was their father's careful answer.  
'See, and you could do with a bit of help as well,' the youngest of the family stated matter of factly.  
'Yes...'  
'Good! Well, then. Lovely morning, isn't it?'  
'Kitty, Lydia, what is it you want out of this?'  
Now it was on Kitty and Lydia to look puzzled. Odd!  
'Well, nothing,' Kitty at last answered. 'Why?'  
'Oh, it is because we never do anything just to help, isn't it? We always want something in return,' Lydia bristled up. 'Okay, here is what Kitty and I want: _Respect_!'  
'Respect is to be earned, Lydia.'  
'To an extent, yes, but seriously, if one is never given the change, earning respect is fucking well impossible, you know? And besides, one should respect people for who they are just as well as for what they are and what they do.'  
'Wow, is my daughter turning all philosophical all of a sudden?'  
'You know what? Just forget it!' Lydia spat and stormed out of the kitchen, knocking over Elizabeth's cup of tea, as she slammed her own mug down, the hot liquid emptying itself all over the table, drenching her father's paper and naturally Lizzy's phone before dripping down onto the floor, just barely missing Elizabeth's legs and feet.  
Well, her mobile was ruined now, that much was certain. Bloody fantastic! A moment later the front door was slammed shut.  
'You know, Papa, she has a point,' Elizabeth said with a frown, seeing Kitty sobbing silently as she fished the teabag out of her tea with shaking hands. 'She has done great these last couple of days. Both have Kitty as well as Lydia. They really put in an effort.'  
'Hm,' was all her father's reply as he shrugged his shoulders and then, once more folded his now sodden paper and put it aside, getting up from the table gulping down the rest of his tea before leaving.  
If he thought her stubborn, she knew exactly where she inherited that trait from.

Right, the mood was ruined for today. Thank goodness, that at least her mother hadn't been there as well or there wouldn't be an end to it for the next couple of days if not weeks. Fanny Bennet really knew how to make the most of situations like this.  
Picking up the remnants of what once had been her phone, Elizabeth made her way back upstairs, after cleaning away the puddle, clearing the table and then giving Kitty a squeeze. Only half an hour ago she had been determined not to keep to her room for another day, but now the prospect seemed a promising one. And besides her wardrobe was waiting with all its "bodies" in it.  
Pulling out one item of clothing that hadn't seen the light of day in months after the other, Elizabeth was actually surprised to see how much stuff there was. Wait, that wasn't hers for sure! She didn't wear neon-yellow and the skirt was a length, if one could call it that, that would at most cover half her butt. Okay, that alone was a good indicator that it was either Kitty's or Lydia's - unless Gloria's attire had somehow appeared inside her closet out of thin air. Not likely.

Ugh, and that blouse certainly wasn't hers either. Nope, it looked much like something Mary would wear. By the way, thinking of Mary, why the heck had she refused to take off her hat last night at dinner? It couldn't be that bad, could it? Hm, her own hair could do with a little trim as well, if she thought about it. Right, another thing she could see to on Monday when in town.  
'Hey Lizzy,' Jane stepped into the room, looking as perfect and lovely as ever. 'Dear me, I have slept in, but I have to admit I was tired. What are you doing?'  
'Sorting out my wardrobe at last,' Elizabeth sighed, looking at the pile of clothes she had already pulled out.  
Considering that she was the one person in the house, aside from her father, with the least inclination for fashion, it was still scary how much stuff always seemed to accumulate in her drawers, her wardrobe and even more mysteriously underneath her bed.  
'Wow, this looks lovely.'  
Jane held up a light grey dress with some dusky pink embroidery at the hem that Elizabeth had bought for whatever reason and just unceremoniously dumped on the floor together with the other stuff she wanted to get rid of. She had never worn it as yet and presumably never would, so what was the point of keeping it? But yes, it did look pretty. It was just that she never felt very comfortable in a dress, and Mr Darcy's reaction to her wearing one had not been very reassuring either.  
'I had thought of giving it away. It is only cluttering up my space.'  
'Oh, no, you won't! It looks stunning.'  
'You sister, look as if you are about to insist to play dress-up again.'  
'You are very right there. Cleaning out a wardrobe is all nice and well, but what's the purpose if you don't try on the stuff and see whether it still fits or whether you still like how it looks on you? - By the way, you do look a lot better today.'  
'Well, Papa said I look like a ghost.'  
'Okay, I was stretching the truth a bit, you still look awfully pale, but compared to yesterday you actually look fine.'  
'That is at least something, I presume. I feel better as well.'  
'But apparently restless,' Jane smiled in commiseration.  
'Very.'  
'Right. So, put it on, will you?' Jane handed her the dress and with a light grumble of protest, Elizabeth stripped out of her pj's she had still been wearing and pulled the dress over her head.  
It fit like a glove, oddly enough.  
'You know, with a decent bra it would look absolutely breathtaking.'  
'Yes, on you.'  
'No, on _you_ , dummy. It would be just the thing to wear to Charles' opening party at Netherfield.'  
'Jane, the repairs haven't even started. Is it really wise to start planning a party for its opening already?'  
'Funnily enough I have asked Charles the very same thing, but according to him, as long as the main house is ready, the rest will be a piece of cake and besides, work will start on Monday and should be fairly quick, considering that no-one lives there.'  
'What about the historically valuable stuff like the wallpapers?'  
'Hardly any of the original wallpaper is still in place and what is still there and can be saved will be taken down in order to restore it just like the furniture.'  
'Wow, you have been busy yesterday, I see.'  
'It was interesting, yes. And it got surprisingly late. By the way, in case you haven't heard, Charlotte has got the job, she's to start on Monday. - So, what about this one then?'  
Jane held up yet another dress she had bought ages ago, actually when still at school. It was a deep red, straight cut with an empire waist and a skirt reaching slightly above the knee. Another dress she had worn but once. Really, the only dress she had worn on more than one occasion was the historical empire dress Jane had made her for the annual harvest ball. It was also the only piece of clothing that currently hung up neatly on the door of her closet. Had it really been only a week ago since she had worn it? Bloody hell, yes. It felt like ages.  
'It can go as well.'  
' _No_! - Lizzy really, I have quite a mind inviting you to London for a decent shopping tour - no, don't look taken aback. But seriously, you can't always run around in a pair of jeans and plain shirts, you are far too pretty. And may I remind you how stunned Darcy was when he saw you on Wednesday? So, how about it? Are you coming to London with me tomorrow?'  
'He wasn't stunned, he was taken aback and quite put out, Jane.'  
'Okay, I show you what, Lizzy. Come put these on.'  
'What, my old dungarees?'  
'Yes. Come, humour me.'  
'You can be really bossy at times, Jane.'  
'It comes with being the oldest of five. Here, this blouse is quite suitable for the look as well.'  
'It's Mary's.'  
'And? It's fugly and I only want to make a point. So, now I just need to tie up your hair and voila!'  
'I look like a scarecrow with how you pulled my hair up.'  
'Oh, really? That, dear sister, is how you run around most of the time when working on the farm.'  
'It's not as if the cows mind all that much. And I can't possibly wear the red dress for fear a bull will run after me. Besides, it doesn't fit very well with the colour of my wellies.'  
'You, of all people, should know that cows are colour blind and should a bull run after you in that dress, it would be for altogether different reasons.'  
'Very funny, Jane.'  
'So, since we've established that you look more or less a fright in these clothes - a cute fright, but a fright and even though they are perfectly serviceable and appropriate for the farmyard, now let's put you into your favourite pair of jeans, shall we?'  
Right, that presumably was the weirdest compliment she'd ever gotten in her life. Cute fright... Hm, she kind of like it.  
'Would I hear the end of it, if I don't comply?' she inquired.  
'No.'  
'I thought as much.'  
Slightly exasperated Elizabeth stepped out of the dungarees and into her jeans, exchanging the ugly blouse with a plain white T-shirt, fitted, but nothing special just the way she preferred it.  
'So, now a slight adjustment to your hair and there you go. And?'  
'Well, it does look a lot better, doesn't it?'  
'It suits you, but it is boring in the long run, if you wear it day in day out, which is exactly what you do. Though, yes, your butt looks stunning in it and it brings out your figure so I have absolutely nothing to say against you wearing a pair of jeans once in a while. But not _all_ the bloody time!'  
Jane gave her bottom a slight smack to underline her words.  
'Okay, and what now? Wait, why are you covering the mirror?'  
'Because I don't want you to see what I am about to do with you. I just get my makeup and a decent hairbrush and in the meanwhile, you can put on a decent pair of knickers and a proper bra – none of those sporty things, understood? And then you put on this grey dress again. Really, that you still don't get it after Wednesday is beyond me.'  
'I looked decidedly too slutty. That dress looked silly on me.'  
'Oh, really? By the way, you looked sexy, not slutty, there is a capital difference.'  
As Jane slipped out of the door, Elizabeth knew there was little point resisting her sister. And it was not as if she had much else to do.

A moment later Jane was back.  
'Sit!'  
'Woof-woof! Do you want me to roll over and jump on command as well?'  
'No, shutting up will suffice.'  
To her astonishment, it didn't take long until Jane was done with her and she was surprised that her sister had barely put any makeup on her face.  
With a triumphant smile, her sister pulled the blanket from the mirror: 'And what do you see now?'  
'Myself, obviously.'  
'Correct. This, Lizzy, is you and you look stunning and also very different from your usual self. You look like a lady. A gorgeous woman every man would stare at.'  
'Yeah, right...'  
Okay, she didn't look bad, if a bit pale perhaps, which was to be expected, but still, it felt so... - foreign to wear a dress and have makeup on.  
Resigned Jane shook her head: 'You really don't get it, do you?'  
'No obviously not, whatever it is I am supposed to get.'  
'Oh, never mind, now onto the red dress.'  
Three frickin' hours later they were at last through sorting through her clothes. It would have taken her a quarter of the time, for sure, had Jane not insisted she'd put on every single item of clothing aside from the stuff that had ended up in her wardrobe but wasn't hers. And seriously, there had been a lot of that. Her mother, when putting away the laundry never paid much attention to what belonged to whom, which was the very reason for her sorting out her clothes to begin with.  
In the end, many of her favourite T-shirts had ended up on the discarded pile while none of the things she would have thrown out had. There were still as many dresses and skirts as ever. Oh, joy! Well, in a couple of weeks she would have to repeat the whole stunt anyway. Plus, she now was sufficiently tired to take her father's advice and go back to bed.


	28. Chapter 28 - Wedding crash-course

_Chapter 28:_

 _Wedding crash-course_

'You look grumpy, mate,' Charles Bingley remarked, looking at his friend from over his coffee cup. 'And there I always thought you are the morning person and not I.'  
'I just haven't slept very well, that's all.'  
Well, and he didn't look much forward to leaving Hertfordshire, truth be told. Yes, the past week had been pretty crazy, and that was even an understatement, but somehow it had been a nice kind of crazy. - Not like the crazy Caroline Bingley left in her wake; the one that led to people planning her murder only to refrain from it when eventually the realisation hit, that she wasn't worth going to prison for.  
'Ah, well, tonight you will sleep in your own unsullied bed, isn't that something to look forward to?'  
'Most certainly, but that won't make me any more awake at present, will it?'  
'No, but it's this thing about thinking positive, you know? By the way, Jane and I are leaving for London tomorrow.'  
'Didn't you want to be there when the workmen arrive?'  
'Yep, but I mean, it's not as if London is very far from here, I'll just go back tomorrow for the day and then dash back again. Easy enough.'  
'Love must be a wonderful thing...' Darcy grinned teasingly.  
'Well, mate, you would know. You did get her phone number, didn't you?'  
'Whose? Jane's? No, why would I?'  
'Are you really that daft? Lizzy's!'  
'Well...'  
'Seriously, what am I to do with you? Both of you actually.'  
'Nothing. Why would you?'  
'Because never in my life have I come across a pair of more hapless people when it comes to love matters than the two of you.'  
'Lizzy is a friend, Bingley, nothing more.'  
At least he presumed they were friends.

Yes, okay, his feelings were not solely friendly. Shit, when it came to that, he wouldn't even mind fulfilling Mrs Bennet's dearest wish within the next year or two, or when Lizzy had finished her studies and it was more convenient to start a family. Not that a baby was much of a hindrance considering that he worked from home most of the time. Plus, he had some experience with children, so...  
Great, his thoughts ran rampant again. He really shouldn't go there. What was it about this woman that made him so weak in the knees? That made his heart beat so much faster each and every time he just thought of her? Not to speak of being close to her?  
'And friends don't exchange telephone numbers? Right...' Bingley smirked knowingly as if he had read his thoughts.  
'Well, if it is any consolation, I've got it. So, does that please you?'  
Okay, he didn't get it from Elizabeth herself, and he wasn't sure whether he should really call her, but when Lydia had handed him the slip of paper with her sister's mobile number on it, he had safely tucked it away into his pocket and had saved it on his phone as soon as he was back at Netherfield.  
'Thank goodness! I thought I need to ask Jane and then sneakily save it on your phone somehow.'  
'Why is it, that everybody seems to assume that Lizzy and I are a thing?'  
'Because the majority of people is not as blind as you are, that's why. I mean, I can't recall a single time when you've put up with so much silliness and were still in a good mood at the end of the day. I mean, you come from a pretty normal family where I am quite used to such antics. I mean compared to my own sister, Kitty and Lydia are positively sensible and charming as silly and annoying as they can be at times.'  
There was little doubt about that...  
'Actually Kitty and Lydia are not all that bad at all. They just need a bit of encouragement and guidance and they should be fine.'  
'See, that is exactly what I mean!'  
'I'm definitely not in love with either of those two.'  
'No, but you care for them nonetheless, because they are _Lizzy's_ sisters. Mean as that might sound, but that is the only reason I put up with them.'  
Okay, could his friend have a point there? And he hadn't even told Charles about the baby. Right, the non-existent baby to be precise. What would he say about Mrs Bennet and her enthusiasm to become a grandmother?  
'It does sound mean, Bingley.'  
His friend only shrugged grinning from ear to ear and then changed the subject.  
'So, when are you leaving?'  
'Shortly after I've finished breakfast.'  
'Wow, you are in a hurry. Are you going to drop by at Longbourn on your way north?'  
Was he? He had said goodbye to the Bennets the previous evening, but Lizzy had still been fast asleep in her bed then, so he hadn't seen her. Perhaps he should. Or probably not. Heck, what did he know?  
'I'm not in a hurry, but there is nothing left for me to do around here, so I can just as well head back. There are some roadworks up the M 1 around Leicester and from Chesterfield on the roads are getting increasingly bad and winding, as you very well know. I mean, from Chesterfield to Pemberley I need almost as long as I need from St. Albans to Chesterfield, minus the inevitable traffic jam that is. This or the other way, I won't be home until the middle of the afternoon - and I really need to exercise the horses after such a long journey. It's one thing to have them on the trailer for an hour or two, but everything above that requires some compensation.'  
'If you say so.'  
'I do.'  
Getting up to prepare his horses for the long journey Fitzwilliam Darcy bid his friend farewell and then left without further ado. Prolonging a taking leave was a silly thing anyway.

When he passed the roundabout that led to Longbourn, again he contemplated dropping by, but then decided against it.

Seeing Lizzy now, wasn't going to make it any easier, was it? And he was already missing her like hell as it was. No, it was time he'd return to Pemberley and then see what he could do about his sister. She should be foremost on his mind at present. She wasn't happy and that had to change asap. The school at Lambton might not be all that good, but Chesterfield wasn't that far off either.  
Right, who was he kidding? Pemberley was in the middle of bloody nowhere. Driving to Chesterfield and back every day wasn't an option. But perhaps he could rent a room there for his sister. There were still elderly ladies who rented out rooms, right? Presumably, but would he trust any of them with his sister?

Okay, eventually he would figure something out. A long drive on the road was just the thing for that. And fortunately, no-one would question his sanity when he kept talking to himself as if he were holding a conversation. Angie and Lucifer would have a field day once again...

The motorway was, just as he had expected, packed with traffic. He had not passed Rugby when his phone rang.  
'Darcy,' he answered rather harshly as he had just tried to figure out, whether Chesterfield, Lambton or Sheffield really was an option for Georgiana, and if, how to manage.  
Okay, Lambton would be pretty straightforward, but then it had occurred to him, that perhaps due to her family Georgiana might have a rather difficult standing there as well. Bloody hell, for a little more than an hour his mind had been running in circles. Great!  
'No need to snap at me, Fitzwilliam!'  
Okay, on the plus side it wasn't Caroline Bingley calling, but there was only one other person who called him Fitzwilliam and that, on the downside, was his aunt.  
'Sorry, Aunt Cathy. How are you?'  
'Are you driving?'  
'Well, yes, but I've got a handsfree set in the car. So, how are you? How is Anne?'  
'Oh, so-so, I would say. You can't believe how difficult it is to get any decent staff these days!'  
He could. Easily. It wasn't all that difficult if one was actually reasonable but that term did not exactly apply to his aunt.  
'I've just fired my head-chef. Can you believe it, he made cottage pie the other day. _Cottage pie_! It is not to be borne. I sometimes really wonder what people are thinking.'  
Yep, and as always there was little need for a reply.  
'And then it is left up to _me_ to sort things out. It always is the same, I tell you, Fitzwilliam. And no-one is willing to take ones advice. Oh no!'  
'And what is so bad about that then? The pie I mean. I like cottage pie,' he managed to inquire as his aunt fumed with indignation.  
'That may well be, Fitzwilliam, but I like to have a certain distinction of rank preserved, and Rosings is not just some pub around the corner it is an event seminar and I expect something more feudal than cottage pie, as do my guests. I mean, how would it look if people came here and be served nothing better than pub-food?'  
Right... - Why ponder on the important things in life, when one could worry about cottage pie?  
'Anyway, I had a couple of fellows over for an interview and can you believe it, one suggested to serve sushi! Are we in China now?'  
'Japan, Aunt Cathy.'  
'Fiddlesticks. Is it really too much to ask for some decent English food?'  
'Like what for example?'  
Seriously, you couldn't get much more English than cottage pie or other traditional pub-food.  
'A nice dish of game like deer or pheasant - or roast beef, lamb shanks; steak pie, if you must, for all I care. Some decent oxtail-soup, or duck liver pate.'  
'What about the cost?'  
'What _about_ the cost?'  
'Last time I checked you had a certain budget set aside for each guest.'  
'I still have. Of course, I have. What a nonsensical question!'  
Right... - Patience, Darcy!  
'Have you checked lately how much a pound of beef costs? Or pheasant? Or duck liver?'  
'Why would I? It's the chef's job. That is what I employ him for. But seriously, no-one ever listens to what I say.'  
Dare one wonder why?  
'Aunt Cathy, a decent joint of beef is between ten to sixteen Pounds per kilo, minced beef is a quarter of that. Pheasant, last time I checked was at around thirty Pounds a bird and there isn't much meat on there.'  
'See, it's not all that expensive.'  
'Last I know your budget was at around twelve Pounds per person per day. That's three full meals plus tea. It _is_ fucking expensive!'  
'Don't use profanities with me, boy!'  
'Sorry, Aunt. It's just the traffic... - However, it doesn't change the fact that it _is_ too expensive for the budget you have set.'  
'Oh come now, a kilo of beef feeds a good ten people, I am absolutely sure of it and a pheasant can easily feed four if not more.'  
The temptation to bang his head against the steering wheel grew with every passing moment he spent on the phone with his aunt. Perhaps he should take a break... Okay, Leicester was ahead and so was the predicted traffic jam. Swell! Road services were still another ten miles off.

But at least he hadn't lied, the traffic was increasingly horrible.  
'Oh, and I've ordered new duvets for the rooms. You know, the ones with the magnetic properties I have told you about?'  
Thank goodness, change of subject. No need to explain how the food was calculated. Not that he hadn't tried before anyway. It was plain pointless. Seriously, if it weren't for his cousin Anne, Rosings would have deteriorated a long time ago. Poor creature, actually.  
Hm, odd his aunt hadn't said anything for a full half minute. - Oh, shit, she expected a reply for once...  
'Magnetic properties? Okay, sounds, eh, interesting...'  
'Don't sound so sceptical, Fitzwilliam,' Lady Catherine scolded sounding indignant.  
'I'm not in the least sceptical. Sounds very reasonable to me. Where did you get them from?'  
'The teleshopping canal. At least they know what they are talking about. And I got a good deal, too.'  
Well, then it couldn't possibly be a scam...  
'They are really an asset to my accommodation, and I recommend them to every one of my guests. I mean, a lot of people are not even aware that they are so incredibly beneficial for one's health. And on top of that, they are easy to maintain. You can just pop them into the washing machine and they are neat and clean as if they were new. Which reminds me, I should actually get the pillows as well. The old mattress covers will do for the time being, but yes, just a moment, I just quickly write it down... - So. But why I am actually calling is that I've got a nice course coming up that might interest you, Fitzwilliam.'  
Oh fuck, no! Not again. Did she have to try to have him attend one of her nonsensical courses each and every time they spoke to each other? He really wasn't much into "contemporary ikebana", "painting shapeless pottery", "train your budgy how to draw" or "controlled musical farting", or whatever else someone invented to drag money out of peoples pockets.  
'I am quite busy right now, Aunt Cathy, if I am being honest.'  
"And if not, I will find something to keep myself busy..." Darcy added in his mind.  
'I thought you were driving...'  
'I mean once I get home, Aunt.'  
'You need to relax more, nephew. All this work all of the time, no wonder you are still single. If you carry on like that you'll never find a wife. But listen, I have a wedding crash-course coming up, how about it?'  
'Why would I want to attend a wedding crash-course? As you have just pointed out so aptly, I am nowhere close to getting married.'  
'It's dancing classes, Fitzwilliam, and if I remember correctly...'  
'Yes, yes, yes, I know I can't dance. Thank you for pointing out my shortcomings so accurately and in such delicate a fashion.'  
'So, shall I put you down then? - Oh, but you will need to bring a partner, of course. Naturally, all the other participants will be couples.'  
Of course...  
The memory of a pair of beautiful eyes crept up on him. Eyes in which he had wished to drown for the whole of last week and now more so than ever. Just to see them sparkle and see Elizabeth smile with those lovely lips of hers..  
'Yes, put me down for it.'  
'Brilliant. I see you in two weeks then, Fitzwilliam. The details are on our website. Bye! - Oh and drive carefully.'  
WTF? - Was that really all it took to cut short a call from his aunt? Good to know...

Oh shit, what had he done? Bloody idiot!


	29. Chapter 29- ID10 TS

_Chapter 29:_

 _ID10 TS_

After his aunt had hung up, Darcy's mind had been reeling. Okay, it had been morris-dancing a la Mary Bennet rather. He still couldn't believe that he had agreed to attend one of his aunt's courses. Okay, it usually wasn't his aunt who taught them, which was a fortunate, but it didn't mean that she didn't get involved some way or another. Oh no!

Though she usually had a lot of advice to give, it was usually as nonsensical as it was unasked for. Pictures of her doing nude yoga, which had been extremely disturbing, to say the least, were replaced by ones of her teaching him how to waltz: "One, two, three, and now turn, and never forget, no food after eight in the evening and no sex after sunrise, one, two, three - one, two, three, spin around. By the way, cottage pie is an unacceptable food for someone with an income of over 24k per annum - one, two, three."  
Right, it definitely was time for a break and thank goodness, he had advanced far enough to be only about half a mile from the road services – or in other terms roughly twenty minutes if he was lucky...  
He was not. Of course not. What had he expected?

Just after he decided to take a break there had been an accident two cars ahead of him and though no-one had been injured, the traffic had gotten stuck completely while the police arrived and then the two vehicles involved were towed away. With the road as clogged as it was, it had taken them an hour. Well, it seemed Gloria wasn't the only person driving without the necessary glasses or contacts. And why the fuck was the guy behind him honking his frickin' horn? It was not as if he could go any faster than the person in front of him or disappear into thin air. Though it would have been nice, truth be told.  
At last, he had made it. To the road services that was.

Pemberley was still a couple of hours away.

Whoohoo, what a glorious prospect!

Finding a parking space was yet another challenge. It would have been tricky enough with a car, but with a car pulling a trailer, it was close to impossible. Close to, but not impossible, thank goodness. Admittedly half the population wouldn't have managed to park a normal car in a spot like the one he squeezed his Landrover and horsebox in, but hey, he normally manoeuvred a tractor through country lanes that were too narrow for a bicycle so seriously, this was a piece of cake.

'You almost scratched my car!' a furious looking elderly man with an expression of permanent indignation screeched at him as soon as Darcy had climbed out of his vehicle, while the wife of said fellow emphasised his words by pulling the corners of her mouth so much southward that they almost touched her shoulders. Almost, not quite. But she was as close to achieving this feat as a specimen of the human race possibly could get.  
'Yes, but I didn't,' Darcy smiled in what he hoped was a disarming manner.  
It was not, apparently.  
'But you easily could have! I'm going to call the police, I am! Dangerous driving should be a hanging offence in my opinion. It really should be. - Agnes, the phone please.'  
Right, perhaps now was not the ideal moment to point out that had they not taken up two spaces with their Vauxhall Corsa there wouldn't have been any space-problems in the first bloody place. Oh, and that there was a police car parked not twenty paces away.  
Too late anyway, the unpleasant bloke was already on the phone.  
'Hello, I want to report a case of dangerous driving - no, but it easily could have led to a collision. No, the chap is still standing here, Sir. Where I am? At the northbound Leicester Road Services. Yes. Alright, I'll wait. My name? Of course. Richard Sucker, Sir. I drive a red Corsa with the registration number ID10 TS. You'll find us easy enough, the chap endangering me pulls a horsetrailer. I mean not literally, his car does, of course.'  
Really? Who would have thought?  
From the corners of his eyes, Darcy could already see one of the exasperated policemen approaching them listening to the radio, his face darkening with every step he took before suddenly it broke into a wide grin.  
'You've called the police, Mr Sucker?'  
'I have, Sir.'  
'Right, and what is the problem? Have you been hit?'  
'Almost, Sir.'  
'Any scratches?'  
'No, Sir. But with the way, he parked it is by sheer luck that nothing has happened, Sir.'  
'If I may say so, Mr Sucker, it is more the way _you_ have parked that concerns me. Just out of curiosity, did you chose your number plate or was it assigned to you?'  
'What has my number plate to do with how this man has parked his car, Sir? And for that matter, what is wrong with my parking? I haven't endangered anybody.'  
'Regarding your first question, nothing, and regarding your second, you are taking up two spaces with one car which is an administrative offence, if I may point that out.'  
'So does this chap!'  
'He's pulling a trailer, and that counts as two vehicles, Mr Sucker. _You_ , on the other hand...'  
'Oh, really? Now that's typical! That is what is wrong with our world. Any wanker can park however he likes and a law-abiding man has to suffer such unfounded accusations. Appalling that is!' Sucker flared up.  
'Be as it may, nothing has happened. This gentleman has done nothing but park his car, however, he's done it is beyond me, but he did it without causing any damage and as it is, that does _not_ count as dangerous driving. - Anything else?'  
Richard Sucker just shook his head, then climbed into his car and drove off without setting the winker, almost running over a young woman and her son.  
'I can't help it, but I think the number plate is spot on...,' Darcy couldn't help remarking.  
'Yep. And I am pretty sure now, that it was assigned to them, after someone had to deal with them for any length of time,' the policeman added before tipping his hat with a conspiratorial glance and turning around to leave.  
The cup of tea he got for himself was more than needed, not to speak of the visit to the loo. Fascinating how much liquid a human bladder could hold, or how much of a vacuum a human skull could contain.

Taking a quick look at the horses Darcy refilled the water bucket and the hayrack and then cracked on.

At least the traffic had thinned considerably within the last half hour that was something.

He had just decided to call Georgiana, just to speak to someone sensible for a change when... - Wow, was that Mr Sucker and his miserable wife? If so, he hadn't gotten very far.  
Yep, it was _Dick_ Sucker, no doubt about it. And he had his hazard flashers on, stomping angrily up and down the hard shoulder while Mrs Sucker gesticulated in a way that made her look as if she attempted to fly off. No-one had as yet bothered to stop, and perhaps he shouldn't either, but his conscience got in the way, as it always did. Blast!  
Setting his winker, Darcy pulled over and alighted, bracing himself for what was to come, for surely it would be none too pleasant.  
'Do you need help, Mr Sucker?' he asked as politely as he could.  
'No, I'm waiting for the AA. I don't need the help from the likes of _you_ ,' Sucker spat, before turning to march the other way again and then back.  
'Okay, only asking,' Darcy stated with some irritation, though somehow he managed to stay polite nonetheless.  
'Dickie, if we wait until they arrive we'll never make it to Pemberley today,' his wife whined, her gestures still resembling a flightless bird and her face that of an unpleasant Basset hound, if ever there was such a thing.  
'Pe...-Pem...-Pemberley?!' Darcy could not help stuttering.  
Why? What had he done to deserve this? He seriously started to doubt there was such a thing as a God, though he could easily believe in the devil at this point. Now all that was missing was R.E.M. playing "Losing my religion" on the radio.  
'Derbyshire, young man, not that you would know where that is. Young people have little interest in geography these days.'  
No, not at the moment at any rate, but the age-old question of how to commit the perfect murder was still as interesting as it had always been...  
'As a matter of fact I do know where Derbyshire is, and even Pemberley, but that aside, what's wrong with your car?'  
'It just stopped working.'  
Yes, presumably because he'd parked too close to it...  
'Did it overheat?'  
'No.'  
'Did it make any weird sounds?'  
'Are you a mechanic or something?'  
'No, but I have some experience with fixing engines. So?'  
'No weird sounds, the car is as good as new.'  
Sucker eyed Darcy's own old Landrover with some suspicion. Yes, alright, it could do with a wash and the finish could do with some polishing up, but it was a bloody four by four. In his opinion, a spotless Landrover was like a married virgin, looking pretty but not put to any proper use. Seriously, what was the point? There was a reason there was such a thing as canned dirt to spray onto an off-road vehicle to at least give the impression it was used for its exact purpose, namely to get off the fucking road. He at least did exactly that. No married virgins for him. Ha!  
'Did you check your petrol gauge?'  
'Do you think I'm senile?'  
Yes...  
'No, but these things happen,' Darcy remarked casually, though through gritted teeth.

This guy was a serious pain in the butt. Even his aunt could learn a thing or two from Dick Sucker, and that really had to say something.  
With a huff, said Sucker went and turned around the key. The car gave some strangled noises, but that was it, and as suspected, the needle of the meter stayed where it was, right on zero.  
'That's all your fault! I had wanted to get petrol and then you came along and almost caused an accident...'  
Ohhhkay... - Would it be very mean to just leave despite the fact that he had a whole jerry can sit in the back of his car? No.

Well, yes, perhaps. Ah, but vengeance was so very sweet, and who was he to deny himself this wondrous feeling of being a dick himself once in a while?  
'Well, it appears I can't help you, Mr Sucker, so you will indeed have to wait for the AA. Have a nice day. Oh, and enjoy your stay at Pemberley. Nice place that, though I heard the owner is a right old wanker.'  
'Now really!'  
'No, really. Absolute ruffian that man is. Bye.'  
While Mr Sucker looked at him open-mouthed as he left, his wife had begun scolding her husband.  
'Now we have to wait here forever, Dick!'  
Dared one hope?

He would not be the first Richard to be defeated close to Market Bosworth which was just to his left, though actually, the other one sounded like a much much nicer chappie.  
Right, Georgiana. Now! Gods, please pick up.  
'Georgie?'  
'Is that you, Will? Is everything okay? You sound weird somehow.'  
'Tell me about it. I had the weirdest day imaginable. I agreed to  
attend one of Aunt Cathy's courses...'  
The snicker on the other end was unmistakable. Yes, okay, it was funny.  
'Then it must have been a weird day indeed,' his siter eventually managed to sqeeze out. 'She must have caught you completely off guard. Are you on your way back home?'  
'Yes, as you can hear. Georgie, how would you like to go to school in Lambton?'  
'But didn' you say it is a crappy one?'  
'I did. I have been thinking about Sheffield or Chesterfield, or possibly Derby, but I think all of them are too far off to commute. However, perhaps Lambton will do until we find something better? If you like that is.'  
'If I like? Will, that would be absolutely wonderful! I could hug you. You are the best brother anyone could ever wish for. And I can really come back home?'  
'Yes. I will sort everything out on Monday and see that you'll start at Lambton asap.'  
His sister's answer was a relieved sob. Bloody hell, how could he have missed how bad she was faring? Best brother indeed. Not! He should have realised. That was what he was there for. To protect his little sister.  
'So, how are things between you and Elizabeth?'  
'Well... - Okay, I guess. She was ill these last couple of days, but she's getting better. As a matter of fact, I'm thinking of asking her to join me for the course our aunt has dumped on me.'  
'Nude painting? I am sure you would look good in a painting, though I recommend not to hang it up in the salon, or anywhere _I_ can see it. No offence, but...' Georgiana giggled, sounding surprisingly like Lydia Bennet.

Good! She was too severe most of the time anyway.  
'No. Though if I enjoy that one, perhaps... - It's a dance course.'  
He refrained from adding that it was a little more than just that, but there were things even a little sister need not know. He would never hear the end of it, for sure.  
'Now it was about time you learned how to dance, Will.'  
'Why?'  
Georgiana had spoken with so much vehemence that it took him by surprise.  
'Just imagine you get married one day and you can't even manage a waltz. I don't think your Elizabeth would be thrilled at the prospect.'  
Okay, it had been a wise decision not to say that it was actually a wedding crash-course he intended to attend with Elizabeth.  
'Who says I am going to marry Lizzy?'  
'I am.'  
'Oh, okay. Do I have any say in it then? Or Lizzy?'  
'No.'  
'Right, does that mean I can leave the planning up to you then?'  
'No problem, Will. I will get to work straight away. But you'll have to wait until spring at the very least. Winter weddings are not half as romantic as a ceremony under a flowering tree or in a blooming garden is.'  
'Good point. Apart from that, I still need to make her fall in love with me first, and then will have to propose.'  
'Ah, you should manage that while at Rosings, I am sure of it. Oh no, the dragon is just rounding the corner... I need to hang up, it's time for tea. See you soon?'  
'Very soon, sis.'  
Right, that was sorted. At least kind of.

Now, perhaps he should call Elizabeth. His heart pounded at the thought of hearing her voice again. How was it possible that he already missed her? Fool in love indeed!  
Dialling her number he was quite disappointed when all he got was her mailbox. Okay, he would try again later.


	30. Chapter 30 - Back to normality?

_Chapter 30:_

 _Back to normality? - Yeah, right!_

It was well past four when at last Darcy turned into Pemberley's stable yard.

Though the motorway had eventually cleared and he had made some headway after leaving the Suckers to their fate, he then had gotten stuck behind a tractor. Needless to say that there was not the slightest chance to overtake that thing, especially not with a horsebox in tow. And also needless to say that it was one of his own damn tractors he got stuck behind, all the way from Bakewell to Pemberley.

'Oh, hello Darcy, I didn't expect you today,' Mrs Younge greeted him with some surprise, wiping her soiled hands on the bottom of her equally dirty T-shirt.  
Well, what did one expect from a woman who'd just stepped out of the workshop where she's been doing some maintenance to have a quick fag?  
'Truth be told, I didn't think I would make it here today, Jen. It basically took me forever. How are things going?'  
'Same old, same old, Darcy. Thank goodness. There is nothing like a nice bit of boring routine, is there?'  
Yep, boring routine sounded just fine to him.  
'Do you need a hand with the horses?' she nodded in the direction of the trailer.  
'No, I'll be fine. After sitting for hours on end, I actually look forward to a little bit of exercise. Traffic has been rough almost all the way.'  
'Isn't it always?' Jennifer Younge shrugged, lighting her cigarette. 'Oh, Jack is here with the sheep.'  
She pointed at the tractor and trailer that was now ambling along one of the pathways towards the steeper hills of his property.

Well, his stock needed some fresh blood, so at least the delay had been of some purpose. In the last year, his ram had gotten a bit lazy, to say it politely. To say it less politely, he was in need of a blue pill or two.  
'I take it Baker sold his Cotswold herd then?'  
'Yes, John has been back and forth to Bakewell all day long.'  
'Good.'  
Unloading the horses he led them onto one of the paddocks a little way off, then made his way to the tack room to get changed into his riding breeches and boots. That was better!

To saddle the stallion was tricky, as he was so nervous after the long drive that it was almost pointless trying to catch him again and put a saddle on his back, but once he had ridden his mare for half an hour, the beast had finally calmed down enough to be ridden. Ah, bliss! If he could, he would go everywhere on horseback. Or at least almost everywhere.

It was beginning to get dark when he finally walked towards the house, using the old servants' entrance that led straight into the boot room.  
Other than Mrs Younge, Mrs Reynolds didn't seem the least surprised to see him step into the kitchen in his socks. Okay, she's had considerably more time to get used to his antics.

Mrs Reynolds had known him since he'd been a little boy and it showed. She also was the only one of his employees he wasn't on first name terms with for fear of offending her.  
'Good evening, Sir,' she greeted him calmly as if she had expected him all along.  
'Good evening, Mrs Reynolds, how are you?'  
'Fine, thank you, Sir. Did you have a pleasant drive?'  
'It was long, other than that, it was...'  
Right, what was it? It had most certainly not been pleasant, save for his chat with Georgiana. - Oh, he should try and call Elizabeth again before it got too late.

He had tried twice again, after his first attempt, but all he ever got was her mailbox. By now he was concerned, if he was honest, and yet, she'd never been a person to play around with her phone, so perhaps she had just forgotten to charge it, or left it in the car or something. Not that that had never happened to him. And he most certainly hadn't missed the damn thing. So...  
Mailbox. Again!  
'Sorry, Mrs Reynolds, I have just been trying to get hold of a friend all day long. So, yes, the drive was fairly pleasant. Do you know whether there are many bookings at the hotel at the moment?'  
'Not that I am aware of, Sir. The holidays are over and the weather is starting to turn. I am surprised that it has been fairly dry this far. We only had one day of rain since you left.'  
'Well, it's not yet October. By the way, my sister will move back to Pemberley within the next week or two.'  
'Oh!?'  
Ha, after all these years he had managed to surprise his old housekeeper for once! That was some achievement not to be underestimated.  
After a delicious dinner of bangers and mash with a smothering amount of onion gravy (shit, his aunt would suffer a heart attack if she ever found that one out, the 'master' of Pemberley eating bangers and mash with a fart-assuring amount of onion gravy!) he made his way upstairs to his rooms, took a shower and sank into bed.

He was knackered and yet, while his body was all too happy to doze off, his mind wasn't.

Should he try and call Elizabeth again?

Would she agree to come with him to Kent?

Would he make a complete fool of himself?

At last his exhaustion got the better of him and it also helped a lot that he was back in his own bed, in his own room, with all the familiar smells and noises that spread through an old house such as Pemberley, with its creaking floorboards, the branches of the nearby trees scraping against the walls and window panes and the occasional owl hooting somewhere nearby as it hunted for mice and other small unfortunate creatures that crossed its path. In short, he was home! Back to normality.

He had just sat down for breakfast in the kitchen after a wonderfully peaceful night when Peter stepped in looking cross. Peter was one of the duty managers of his hotel and normally almost as cheerful and bubbly as Charles Bingley. Okay, to top Charles' cheerfulness was difficult, but Peter got close. Very close. That he looked none too happy now, said a lot.  
'Morning,' the young man grumbled, plunking down on one of the chairs. 'Sorry to bother you Darcy, but I am afraid we've had a couple of complaints...'  
Darcy pushed a cup of tea over to the exasperated looking chap.  
'Thanks, boss. - It's a couple that arrived late yesterday and they would like to talk to you about the cock that has woken them at such an ungodly hour, the lack of a hot water tap, the size of the room, the fact that we don't serve hot dinner after ten, the state of the roads leading to here and that there was a hell lot of traffic on the motorway apparently. Then there is the smell of sheep and the distance to the main house - oh, and that according to them, they were led to believe that the hotel was actually _inside_ Pemberley House, not a separate building on the other side of the park...'  
Ah, the Suckers had made it to Pemberley after all. Fuck!  
'Wouldn't it be easier to just enumerate the things they didn't complain about?' Darcy couldn't help wondering.  
'Presumably, but then there would be nothing left to say.'  
Okay, good point.  
'At any rate, they would like to speak to the _owner_ , not some or other manager, such as I.'  
'I feared as much. I'll be over in a sec.'  
'Cheers. Rather you than me.'  
'I just step into my battle gear, shall I?'  
He hardly ever wore a suit. It was plain silly to do so when mainly working on the farm and around animals.

Mr Bennet was right there, nowadays a gentleman could not just lean back and have others do the work. - Not that that would have been his inclination anyway.

However, today nothing but a suit would do. Preferably a suit of armour, but knowing the Suckers they most certainly would complain about the clanking noise as he moved around.  
Right, quick shower, just in case, clean shave including aftershave even though it burnt his skin, half a can of deodorant to keep his opponents at a distance without them having cause to complain about lack of hygiene, crisp white shirt, grey suit - oh and his favourite green tie. Looking into the mirror Darcy thought he looked more like a cheerfully dressed undertaker than the proprietor of a hotel, but hey, one never knew when meeting the Suckers. They had a tendency to make whomever they met, think of throttling them, after all. Besides, he had made it in record time. Which meant he had enough time to try and reach Elizabeth again on his way over to the hotel.  
Again, no answer, only her mailbox. Damn!

'...almost an hour now!' he heard Richard Sucker's voice as soon as he had opened the door. 'I see his Lordship is above talking to the people who finance his lavish lifestyle...'  
Poor Peter was obviously just about to point out that first he had to go over to Pemberley House, to speak to his boss, then come back and inform them that Mr Darcy would be there in a couple of minutes and that hardly a quarter of an hour had passed since his own return.  
With a smile as wide and as false as that of the Cheshire cat, Darcy stepped through the glass door and into the lobby, a lobby that looked almost like a miniature of the entrance of the actual manor house.  
'Good morning,' he beamed, reaching out his hand. 'I am afraid I am not a Lord only a plain Mister, Mr Sucker, and I always have an ear for my guests whether it be complaints, suggestions or compliments.'  
'Compliments? For this hovel? We were led to believe that the hotel was inside the main house, Sir.'  
It was pretty clear that Sucker didn't recognise him. His wife did, however, and she looked increasingly uncomfortable as the corners of her mouth went down another notch.  
'That is unfortunate. May I ask where you got that information from? I can assure you that it is perfectly false.'  
'It is right here on the leaflet!'  
Eh, that was news to him...  
'See, there is the image of the house right at the front.'  
It was a leaflet for Pemberley House, that much was true, informing visitors about the guided tours, opening times and entry fees.

Knowing Sucker, there was little use in pointing out as much.  
'And also, the rooms are incredibly large and airy, and then there is the fact that there aren't any hot water taps,' Mr Sucker continued while his wife sat quietly next to him in discomfort.  
'I could assign you to another room that is more to your liking, if you'd like. We have smaller ones and also suites that are less airy. And as for the hot water tap, we are using mixer taps throughout the hotel. They are more energy efficient, you see?'  
'Energy efficient? What about _tradition_? Oh, and then there is that cock that starts crowing at the crack of dawn.'  
'I am afraid that that is what they do, Mr Sucker. I will try and reason with it, but I fear it likes to cling on to the old _tradition_ of rousing the people as soon as the sun is up,' Darcy joked, even though he knew that it would cost him dearly.  
And sure enough!  
'Are you mocking me?' his opponent flared up, almost jumping out of his seat.  
'No, Mr Sucker. But this is a country hotel and resort and I am afraid that farm animals are part of the package. It is what appeals to people to come here, actually.'  
'Ah yes, farm animals... - The smell of the sheep is _disgusting_ and all through the night there has been an owl sitting right in front of our window.'  
'I am sorry about that, but there now is really something I can't do anything about.'  
'What about starving your customers to death?'  
'I presume you refer to the fact that our kitchen closes at half-past nine?'  
'We had to make do with pumpkin soup and sandwiches, even though we booked an all-inclusive stay, Mr Darcy. I demand a refund and a reduction! This place is by no means up to standard. No fire in the grate, the room was freezing, the beds too soft, the reading lamp was too dim, the drinks from the mini-bar were too cold, there was no ashtray in our room and the toilet seat was up when we arrived.'  
Argh... - How about the windows being too see-through and the water being too wet?  
'I think I'll come up with you and you can show me all that is wrong and then we'll see to it. Also, my offer still stands to assign you another room or one of our suites without any additional cost, of course.'  
Would it help to mention that one of the lesser-known attractions of the park was an ancient oak tree locally known as the hanging tree? Public executions hadn't been performed for a good while now, but after all, Mr Sucker seemed to quite like old traditions...  
After another hour, the Suckers' luggage was moved to the small suite on the other side of the hotel. There was little need mentioning that there had been nothing wrong with the room at all, and they had gotten exactly what they had booked, but when in doubt, the customer was right no matter how wrong he was.

There was central heating that could be adjusted by the customers to their exact liking, though should a customer ask for it, the fire in the grate would be lit, of course. The beds were as normal as any beds in any given hotel, the mini-bar had the average temperature of 8 °C, which was actually rather warm, it was a non-smoking room, so of course there had been no ashtray, aside from the fact that neither of the Suckers smoked anyway, and naturally the toilet seat had been up to show that it had been cleaned. As for the reading light, it had a dimmer and a simple turn of the light switch would have done wonders. Magic!  
What was worst was, that it had taken all frickin' morning to sort those idiots out. Okay, that idiot. For when he had left to return to Pemberley House and prepare to take over one of the guided tours that afternoon, Mrs Sucker had intercepted him.  
'I'm so sorry, for all the trouble we've caused. You know, ever since my husband retired from work he's been a bit naggy. I appreciate your patience, Mr Darcy, and your kindness in trying to help us yesterday.'  
'No problem,' was all Darcy managed to stammer at that.  
Who would have thought?  
Right, on to more important matters. - Calling Elizabeth and then bracing himself for another onslaught of sheer stupidity after a cup of tea and right after he had seen to the stables to check if everything was in order.  
Again it was only her mailbox answering. WTF? Was she avoiding him? He almost started to feel like a stalker by calling her every other hour or so. He would stop after his twentieth attempt. If she didn't want to speak to him, fine. But seriously, had he really misjudged her so? At least he had thought they were friends.

The group was a large one as it piled through the large entranceway of Pemberley. As usual, the women looked eagerly about them, while the men appeared bored out of their minds and the children whined querulously. Thank goodness there were only five of them today - two dim looking teenage girls, a disinterested boy of about twelve with headphones covering his ears, a baby that was peacefully sleeping in its mother's arms and a girl of about five or six that eagerly looked at her surroundings.  
'Welcome to Pemberley House. My name is William and I am your guide for today. I will ask you not to touch anything, and whenever you have questions, feel free to address me and I will try and answer them. - So, the house was built by Sir Geoffrey Howard, a leading architect of the late seventeenth century. It was built between the years 1655 to 1658 by Fitzwilliam Darcy and has been in the Darcy-Family ever since. The current house replaced a much older building that was originally a moated manor house, which again replaced a motte and bailey castle, the remnants of which are still visible up the hill to the left and which was built to control the surrounding area. It has never had any military significance, I might add. - The lake out front is part of the original moat of the manor house, fed by the river that passes through the valley. Later on, it was widened and incorporated in the landscape gardens we see today as were the castle ruins...'  
'What happened to the old house?' the girl's little voice piped up, much to her mother's annoyance.  
Indeed, the mother didn't appear to be very eager to be here at all.  
'It burnt down partially in 1649 during a raid of Cromwell's troops and was eventually demolished,' Darcy answered with a smile.  
'Do you have a picture?'  
'Indeed I have. It hangs right here above the fireplace.'  
The girl craned up her neck and then said with some disappointment: 'I can't really see it.'  
Without much ado, Darcy lifted the child onto his shoulders.  
'Better?'  
'Much.'  
'Is the house still lived in?' a young and arrogant looking woman asked, pushing a pile of chewing gum around in her mouth.  
'It is. It is still home to the Darcys.'  
'Do they have a son?'  
There was little guesswork needed as to the purpose of these questions. It was one of the reasons why he never gave his surname when doing the last tour on a Sunday afternoon so Sarah could go home early.  
'The present Mr Darcy is unmarried and childless.'  
'Oh? And how old is the present Mr Darcy?'  
Well done, Darcy... Open mouth, insert foot. He was not a good liar. But he had to try.  
'In his early sixties.'  
There, that should do!  
'Oh, still so young?'  
WHAT? NO!  
'He's old!' the girl still sitting on his shoulders protested. 'Can we look at the rest of the house now?'  
Bless her! That kid was a life-saver.  
They had not gone five meters when: 'William, I need to go to the loo...'  
Okay, perhaps not.

Where the heck was her mother? Bloody brilliant, he'd lost her somehow. However, that was possible. Right, the child looked old enough to manage on her own, she probably even went to school already. Thank goodness! It was not that he wouldn't have known what to do, after all, he had a little sister, but seriously, it would have been inappropriate, to say the least.  
'Please excuse me, we have a wee emergency. You are welcome to sit down while waiting unless someone else needs to go potty.'  
No-one did, but before he had even turned around the whole group had made itself comfortable on the antique furniture. So much so, that some even put up their feet on the couch table.

Ah well, never mind.  
Why the fuck was the door to his study open? It wasn't locked, sure enough, but it was not open for visitors either. He heard voices from within. Well, one voice to be more precise.  
'These tours are always so tedious, I tell you, but Carla just loves them for whatever reason. But really, I can't wait for the weekend to be over. I am so glad that Phil got custody of her... - Yes, I tell you. I didn't get to go out all weekend! I mean normally I manage to sneak out once she's asleep, but last night she made such a fuss that I had to call Chris eventually and tell him I won't make it. He was none too happy, I tell you. - Where I am? At Pemberley. - Yes exactly, that dingy old house near Lambton. At least the guide's a looker. But with Carla there, I doubt I can persuade him for a little something, especially after I didn't get to meet Chris last night. - Fuck no! Of course, Chris doesn't know about Carla. I had to invent some cock and bull story about a broken pipe.'  
'You are free to persuade me to throw you out, Madam. At least that's my definition of a little something. And which is exactly what I will do right now. - Tell _Phil_ that he can pick up his daughter here.'  
He'd heard enough and what he had heard made him feel nauseous.

What made him livid was the fact that the woman had barely stepped out of the house when she was on her mobile once again telling her friend in a cheerful voice: 'Hey, I was saved by the guide. Can you pick me up? - Yes, Carla is taken care of for the rest of the day. Sure, pizza sounds good. See ya!'  
'Does that mean I can stay here now?'  
Oops, he hadn't noticed the girl's return. Oddly enough, the child looked more relieved than saddened.  
'Yes, at least until your dad picks you up. But first we have to finish the tour, remember? The others are waiting.'  
Or they would have had he not been stopped in his tracks by a now all too familiar figure.  
'Mr Darcy! I have another complaint. There was horse manure right in the middle of the riding path.'  
Okay, leave it to Richard Sucker to blow his incognito. He had been loud enough to rouse the dead.  
'No shit? I didn't know you were riding,' Darcy managed to squeeze out from between his teeth.  
'Hey, I know you, young man!'

Seemed as if him wearing a suit really had befuddled Sucker.  
'Yes, I told you Mr Darcy is a wanker...'  
He was a patient man, really, but eventually, even his patience wore thin and now it was so threadbare that any minute now, he was certain, he would lose it. Big time!  
'Be as it may, I wasn't riding, I was walking.'  
KABOOM!  
'It is a fucking bridle path, Mr Sucker, meant for riding. Stop looking for things to whine about and get yourself a hobby other than pissing off people just because you are bored out of your mind. Why don't you try some nude yoga? Or cooking? Or how to ride a broomstick for all I care, at least it doesn't poop.'  
He all but pushed Sucker out of the house before taking a deep breath: 'Now where were we?'  
Shit, he still needed to finish the tour... And there he had longed for some normality after the week he'd just had. Yeah, right!  
On the upside, no-one dared to ask any stupid questions and the ones Carla, again safely sitting on his shoulders, asked were actually quite clever.

An hour later he finally could lock the doors behind him and walking down towards the kitchen with his little charge in tow Darcy was glad to see that dinner was ready and that Mrs Reynolds had had the foresight to lay out another cover. Now he only needed to wait until the girl was picked up by her father and then, at last, he could go to bed. - Oh and he probably should try to call Elizabeth again...

As the hours ticked by he grew more and more concerned, however. Bloody hell, did no-one care about this little girl? Carla was sleeping peacefully on the sofa beside him in the library as he stared into the flames of the fireplace, his book long forgotten. It was past ten when finally there was a frantic knock on the front door and he opened to reveal a dishevelled looking knight in full armour.  
'Sorry about that, I wasn't exactly around the corner to begin with and then I got lost,' the man panted as if he had just ridden here, though Darcy was relieved to see a car parked behind the stranger.  
'Never mind, it's not a problem. Phil, I presume?'  
The man nodded his mouth set in a grim line. Damn, he looked fierce. Literally ready for battle. Okay, no stretch of the imagination needed where Carla got her enthusiasm for history from. What little girl could claim to have her own true knight? Lancastrian, he noted. Ah well, one couldn't have it all...  
'I swear one day I'll kill my ex. Cheers mate for taking care of my girl.'  
'Anytime. Beer?'


	31. Chapter 31 - Shopping Queen

_Chapter 31:_

 _Shopping Queen_

'Bloody hell, I am exhausted!' Elizabeth whined, pulling her comfy trainers off her feet before flopping down on Jane's bed-couch. 'Is there a single shop in London we haven't visited?'  
'Many, I dare say, but come on, be honest, it was worth it,' her favourite sister replied, as she herself stripped off her shoes before walking over to the small kitchen in the corner of her bedsit to pour two glasses of wine for them and sort out their dinner.  
How Jane had been able to walk in her pumps all day long was a mystery. Her own feet were killing her and she had not worked an early shift as Jane had done.

They had met at Barts to set out straight away and looking at all the bags that now lay spread all over the floor of Jane's tiny flat, Elizabeth had to question her own sanity. Especially since she was sure that most of the stuff she would wear perhaps once, if at all. At least she had acquired a new mobile. Not that she used it often, but not having one had still made her somewhat uncomfortable. It was nothing fancy in itself unlike the phones her younger sisters had insisted on, for hey, it was just a phone, but Jane had persuaded her to purchase a nice looking cover for it. Ah, there it was. Okay, where was her SIM-card? At least that had survived the flooding Lydia had caused, not that she could fault her in this case. She's had every right to be upset.

Carefully Elizabeth pushed the card into its designated slot, then put in the battery before closing the cover and plucking the charger into the nearest socket. With a slight vibration and a piercing beep, the thing came to life.  
Punching in her access code, she stared bewildered at the screen, before panic set in.  
What? Twenty - TWENTY - 20 - yes, twenty, missed calls? What the fuck?

And whose number was it anyway? Gods, had something happened? No-one ever called her, let alone twenty times in a row. Unless something was the matter that is. Heck, she had only left last afternoon, could it really be that Longbourn had burnt down already?  
'What is it, Lizzy? You look worried,' Jane inquired as she made her way over with the wine and two plates filled to the brim with the curry, rice, naan bread, various chutneys and pakoras they had bought at the takeaway around the corner.  
Hell, they had enough food to last them the remainder of the week, and it was only Monday, mind.  
'Someone tried to get hold of me, and by the looks of it, it seems urgent.'  
Okay, the first four calls had been made on Saturday... Whatever was wrong, it had in all likeliness nothing to do with Longbourn. Phew!  
'Did he leave a voicemail?'  
'No. And it might just as well be a "she", Jane. - Perhaps Charlotte has got a new number. - Perhaps I should try and...'  
Damn, it was almost ten already. Yes, perhaps she was old-fashioned, but calls after eight o'clock were not very polite, were they? Not unless it was by appointment or an emergency. On closer inspection, the mysterious caller seemed to be of the same opinion. Not one single call had been made later than half past seven. Okay, perhaps it was someone trying to sell her a conservatory or the like. No that was silly, they would hardly have called on a Sunday, would they? These days one couldn't be sure, though. Ah well, never mind, it would have to wait until tomorrow then. But what if it _was_ urgent?

The food tasted bland. Not in itself, admittedly, but the calls had upset her somehow. Sod it, she would call now!

As soon as Jane had gone into the bathroom to take a shower she dialled the number in question, sitting on the edge of the sofa with her insides churning. Come on, pick up the bloody phone whoever you are!  
The phone was, in fact, picked up on the second ring.  
'Hello?' a very sleepy voice answered, sounding slightly muffled as if a pillow or blanket had gotten in the way.  
A very male voice at that, that sounded somewhat confused. Okay, it was almost eleven now. She should have waited, she knew it!  
There was movement on the other end and then suddenly the man spoke again: 'Lizzy, is that you?'  
Okay, she knew that voice. Quite well even. And she had missed hearing that voice if she was honest with herself.  
'Will?' she asked tentatively.  
He had tried to call her! Wow...

How did he even happen to have her number? Okay, never mind, what mattered was that he was on the phone now.  
'Yes. Are you okay?' he answered, and she couldn't help picturing him lying in bed.  
Did he sleep in the nude? No, bad thought. Go away!  
'Yes, of course. Why?' she all but stammered, her heart hammering in her chest as if she was in the middle of a marathon.  
'You didn't answer my calls. I was worried. You are not angry at me?'  
'No, why?'  
Now it was on her to be confused.  
'Because I didn't take proper leave of you,' he stated, sounding contrite. 'How are you?'  
Okay, suddenly she felt like throttling Lydia after all. Not really, of course, but just a little for good measure.  
'My phone died, sorry. Little accident at the breakfast table. I only just got a new one today. Considering that I had basically passed out, I hardly have a right to be angry at your leaving without bidding me farewell and besides, my dad passed on your best wishes. - The cold is gone, thank goodness, and I am visiting Jane in London for a couple of days. What about you?'  
As always, it was surprisingly easy to speak to him. Once they got talking, that is.  
'Same old,' Darcy replied with a chuckle. 'Nothing special, really. Just sorted out a couple of issues. Brought an old married couple back together, babysat a young girl, had beer with a Lancastrian knight, finally cleaned my car, enrolled my sister at the local school so she can come home, fixed a fence - oh, and agreed to take one of my aunt's courses, which was why I tried to call you, amongst other reasons.'  
'Okay? Sounds like a perfectly normal weekend to me...'  
'Well, yes. I am a bore I am afraid. But you see, that course I agreed to take is a dance course and I will need to bring a partner and I thought that maybe...?'  
Yes, yes, yes!  
'... if perhaps, I mean if you like that is, if you would...- come with me? Please?'  
Right girl, stay calm!  
'Yes, why not?' Elizabeth almost squealed, feeling immensely silly and joyfully giddy at the same time. 'As long as you don't happen to be the teacher or something, for though I know the basics, I am not really all that much of a dancer. So a dance course is not a bad idea.'  
'No worries then. I am not the teacher. Actually, I can't dance at all, as embarrassing as that might sound.'  
'Oh! - Okay, that explains a lot. So you literally do _not_ dance?'  
Shit, and there she had called Charlotte crazy to suggest such a thing...  
'Yep. I mean, no, I don't.'  
'And when is this course then?'  
'In two weeks... Okay, not quite. It's in eleven days from now.'  
'Ah, okay. That's quite soon. Phew!'  
'I know it is on short notice, but it is only one weekend starting Friday late afternoon to Sunday night. I would pick you up on my way south if that's convenient. I mean, if you are still interested, that is.'  
Whatever the cost, of bloody course she was!  
'Yes, it's absolutely fine,' she managed to answer in what she hoped was an even voice. 'All of it. I have to say I am quite curious to meet your aunt. Penny has been chatting on about her so much that I'm quite intrigued.'  
'Ah yes, I almost forgot that your cousin frequently goes to Rosings. Well, I dare say my aunt will not disappoint, nor will her courses. They are quite notorious from what I've heard. It's admittedly the first I'm attending, bad nephew that I am. And I only agreed because she kind of ambushed me. - By the way, I hope you are not too keen on cottage pie, for I am afraid there won't be any.'  
Eh?  
'Pity, I like cottage pie.'  
'Yeah, me too. Bummer! Perhaps we can sneak out after classes and go to a pub. The Parson's Trap in Hunsford is quite good and they sell decent locally brewed ales as well.'  
'The Parson's Trap? That's a hilarious name for a pub!'  
'It used to be the parsonage a couple of centuries ago but eventually got too small for the then rector and his ever-growing family and so a new one was built.'  
'I take it he didn't read all that much?'  
Oops, that was perhaps a bit insinuating, but it had slipped out of her mouth before she'd known it.  
'Probably not. He seemed to have other interests,' Darcy replied dryly. 'So, how are you enjoying your stay in London?'  
'It's nice to spend some time with Jane and away from Longbourn. I am to help her paint her flat and re-decorate. And perhaps we're going sightseeing, as silly as that might sound, and, of course visit my favourite aunt and uncle and their children. Today we went shopping. All afternoon long!'  
And she still needed to stack the bags in a corner so they could pull out the bed-couch...  
'You make that sound like a bad thing. Going shopping.'  
'Isn't it?'  
'It's a necessary evil if you ask my honest opinion, but I am a man. I was under the impression that most women tend to like the activity.'  
'I am not most women, Will.'  
'No, thank goodness for that!'  
A massive yawn escaped him and made Elizabeth yawn likewise.  
'I think you should go to bed, Lizzy,' Darcy yawned again. 'You sound tired and you have just been ill. And don't forget, you are not having a baby...'  
'Ha-ha! Well, speak for yourself, you sound knackered, too. I have woken you up, haven't I?'  
'Yes, I was fast asleep when the phone rang.'  
'Sorry about that. I normally don't call this late, but I was worried something had happened.'  
'I am not. Sorry, I mean that you woke me up, but I am sorry that I worried you. I'm glad you called. Lizzy?'  
'Hm?'  
'I.. eh - Have a nice dream.'  
'You, too, Will. Good night.'  
Grinning Jane stepped out of the bathroom as soon as Elizabeth had hung up, her eyes gleaming triumphantly while Elizabeth's gaze was decidedly dreamy.  
'I told you it was a _he_ ,' Jane sing-songed making a silly face.  
OMG! Okay, at least it wasn't her mother who had overheard them. If, she would be starting to plan their wedding asap. Taking Jane and Charles' relationship into consideration, it probably would be a double one.  
'How much did you hear?' Elizabeth stammered, avoiding Jane's scrutinising gaze.  
She could literally feel her face flush from embarrassment. Not that she had anything to hide, after all, Darcy was a friend, wasn't he? And they attended a dance course together at his aunt's, not some kind of wedding prep-course or some antenatal classes they most certainly didn't need. Not at this point anyway.  
'You know the bathroom-walls are paper thin, Lizzy. It's only the outer walls that are half-way decent. I have to admit I heard everything from your side of the conversation, whether I wanted to or not. Sorry. I mean, it really wasn't my intention to pry but see, I told you, you would need those heels.'  
'But I can't even walk in them, Jane.'

'Oh, I'll make sure you practice then. And there is always Darcy's arm to cling to...'  
'I am not sure he would appreciate that, Jane. He didn't like it very much when Caroline Bingley clung to him like a tick to a dog.'  
'Ah, but that was perhaps because he _did_ consider her a tick...'  
'Jane, seriously, that was the most evil thing I have ever heard you utter!'  
'Well, I didn't say Caroline was a tick, only that Darcy might have thought her equally annoying.'  
'Okay, fair enough. You are forgiven.'  
'How kind, sister dearest. Now, bed? Then we sort out what you are going to take to Rosings with you on the morrow.'  
'No!'  
'Oh yes. And, we will have to better your make-up skills.'  
'Jane...!'  
Okay, she would leave it at that. She was tired and she could just as well refuse when it mattered, namely the next day as soon as Jane returned from her shift. Shit, she hadn't even managed to get a book to read. That would be her mission for tomorrow, while her sister was out.

Now while shopping for clothes was nothing but tedious, bookshops were a treat. Oh, and DIY stores weren't bad either if she thought about it. They were always good to pick up an idea or two in the least. So perhaps a trip to Homebase was in order as well as Waterstone's. After all, she had nine hours to kill...

And since she had promised Jane to help her sort out her flat she could just as well put her sister's absence to good use.

Yes, the small bedsit was functional to a degree, but, well it was small and storage wise it had reached its limits. Long ago.  
And thinking about it, with re-decorating the flat, she was sure she could deter her sister from her attempts to turn her into a fashion-dummy. Good plan! 


	32. Chapter 32 - Past-time Dominatrix

_Chapter 32:_

 _Past-time Dominatrix_

'Now turn around, keep your back straight, yes, that's it, Lizzy,' Jane commanded her.  
Fucking hell, everything with a heel above two inches was nothing but a frickin' torture device. Why, oh why was it unacceptable to wear wellies for a dance? Or trainers? Seriously, with these things, one could just as well walk on stilts and at least they had a handle to hold onto. But these bloody things?  
'Can I take them off now?' Elizabeth asked, rather testily.  
'Just once up and down the stairs and then yes, by all means.'  
'I never knew you had a cruel streak to you, Jane.'  
Grinning Jane only shrugged and then pushed her out of the door. There was no way to defend herself, not while she struggled to keep her balance...

It already was a bad idea just walking in these things, but climbing stairs? She was too young to die! Thank goodness there was a bannister, ha, and a lift. Looking behind her, she saw Jane's challenging glance. At least it didn't appear as if she was about to come with her and yet, she also didn't seem inclined to move away from the door. This meant a little sneakiness was required. She would just go down one storey, two at most and then press the button for the lift.  
Peeking up she saw that she was now out of Jane's sight. Good! Okay, the lift was also just one floor above her. Everything went according to plan thus far. She would just have to wait a couple of minutes before stepping out of the house, waving up at Jane and then return same way she'd come, again get out of the lift one storey below Jane's flat, climb the rest of the stairs and she'd have made it. Easy!  
With a rattle, the doors of the rickety looking lift slid open to reveal...

'I knew it!' Jane grinned, her arms crossed in front of her chest.  
FUCK!  
'Now really, are you trusting me so little?'  
'Yes, and for obvious reasons, Lizzy. Now, be a good girl and walk down the stairs and then back up.'  
'Torturer! Does Charles know you work as a past-time dominatrix?'  
'Yes, he loves it when I cuff and whip him,' Jane replied straight-faced.  
Oh God, no! Shit, that was an image she needed to get rid of asap. Jane was joking, right? Okay, yes, her sister started to crack up, thank goodness. Still... She really needed to think of something else. Rosings for example and the dance course with Will. - Will, yes that was safe. None of this cuffing and whipping stuff.

No. No! NO! Argh... - Not going there, no thinking about Will, hndcuffs and horsewhips in the same sentence. Bloody hell! Too late.  
'See, it wasn't all that bad,' Jane greeted her at the bottom of the stairs.  
'It was every bit as horrible as I expected it to be. Worse even.'  
'Now, since you've been such a good girl, I have a treat for you.'  
'Oh, really?'  
'Yes. I'll allow you to take the lift to go back upstairs.'  
'Well, thank you!'  
As soon as she was inside the flat, Elizabeth pulled the shoes from her feet and flung them in the next best corner and slipped on her Crocs. Much better.

Yes, they were not very sexy, but at least, other than their name suggested, they were perfectly harmless and not out to kill her. Perhaps if she used some glittery spray paint on them and a handful of sparkly rhinestones they would do just fine for the dance course.

Okay, presumably not, but one thing was certain, she would go and get a pair of comfy granny-pumps tomorrow when Jane was at work and that was final! One with an anatomical insole.  
Shit, her feet were killing her and they still wanted to paint the wall by the kitchen as soon as Bingley arrived back in London any moment now. Which, of course, meant that they had to clear out the cupboards and take them down, all while cleaning them properly in the process and pep them up with some adhesive foil. A rustic oak finish was not exactly the most cheerful thing for a room the size of a shoe box, but hey, it had come with the flat. Fortunately, since the flat belonged to their aunt and uncle, they had easily gained permission to do whatever they pleased as long as the house was not burnt down or otherwise demolished. That shouldn't be too difficult to avoid.  
'Almost four, Charles will be here in a nick,' Jane remarked with a glance at her watch.  
Thinking back at him helping around the farm perhaps she had been too optimistic just now... - Okay, that was mean. He was a good guy and perhaps he was more talented with DIY than with herding cows. Everyone had their own skillset and DIY might be Bingley's.  
And there was his ring anyway, so let the games begin... - Jane had been spot on with her prediction.  
'Hello, my Angel,' he greeted his girlfriend with a kiss and a hug then waved at her: 'Hi, Lizzy!'  
'Hello Charles, how are you? How are things going at Netherfield?'  
'I am fine, and the works are actually much faster than I anticipated, but then again, Charlotte kicks arse, doesn't she?'  
'Yep.'  
'See, I told you she was the right person for the job,' Jane interjected.  
'And so you did,' Charles Bingley smiled back at her, before pulling her in for another kiss.  
Thank goodness she was going to a dance course. After all, Elizabeth didn't want to embarrass her sister on her wedding day, which seemed to be fast approaching... - And she still hadn't thought of a present. Ah, just in case she could always go for one of the classics like dishcloths, towels, bed linens or a nice cake lifter. Or how about a toaster?  
'So, what do you want me to do?' the groom to be asked eagerly.  
'We could use some help with the furniture, it needs to get moved over to this side and then the kitchen cupboards need to come down so we don't soil them with paint.'  
'Sure.'  
'And then we need to get the paint...'  
Rolling up his shirt sleeves, both Jane and Bingley got cracking with the furniture, while Elizabeth took care of the crockery. They made quite some headway and she took her chance to quickly disappear into the bathroom.  
Oh, great, did she see red? Yep, her not-pregnancy was now officially confirmed. Hooray!  
She heard Jane call out for her. What had she just said? Okay, never mind, it probably wasn't all that important. She could ask her once she was finished.

Five minutes later...  
'Eh, can one of you please let me out of the bathroom? Hello folks, I'm stuck in here...'  
However hard she tried to press the door handle, it wouldn't budge. Something was clearly blocking it. Okay, whenever she got a flat of her own, she would make sure that it had frickin' doorknobs!  
One more try, just for good measure: 'Helloho...?'  
Now seriously? Nothing. Fuck all. They had not gone out, had they?  
'Jane? Charles? Hello? Anybody at home except for myself?'  
Obviously not. Bloody brilliant! No, they didn't really, did they? Apparently yes.

Yes sure, they had wanted to go and get paint and other stuff with Bingley's car so they could avoid an awkward ride on the bus, but hey, she was there, too. Trapped in the bathroom, because someone had piled a shit load of rubbish in front of the door. - Okay, not rubbish, but the kitchen cabinets in all likeliness, not that it mattered right now.

And since Jane didn't read while sitting on the loo, other than at home there was not even a fucking Cosmopolitan to flip through and her mobile was laying peacefully on the couch table. Of course, where else would it be than firmly out of her reach? And as if to mock her, it started ringing right NOW!  
Wow, amazing how quickly one could get bored. So, no magazine, definitely no book, no mobile and just a toilet bowl for company. The prospects were rather bleak. The back of the shampoo bottle she had already read twice. It was a decent mystery thriller, but rather on the short side and none of the main characters had much of a personality.

Aqua was a bit see-through and constantly wet herself, Buxux Chinensis was decidedly too oily for her liking and Caffein suffered from a stress disorder...  
She definitely needed to find something else to do. In answer to her prayers, her eyes fell on the Boot's-bag she had dumped in here the previous night. Right, Jane had wanted to show her how to do makeup properly, but since she was trapped here, she could just as well try for herself, couldn't she?  
Okay, hair clip first, then washing the face. So far so good, that was the easy part. Now, what next? Foundation would make sense considering its name...

Right, sponge, brush or fingertips? Sponge sounded fun and it had a nice colour. Sponge it was. So, what next? Concealer? Well, why not? Why not conceal the fucking expensive foundation underneath some equally pricey concealer?  
'Just remember youtube... It's supposed to be a piece of cake. Even beauty gurus manage despite their obvious lack of common sense...' Elizabeth muttered to herself.  
So far, she looked quite good. By the way, did one really need to contour? Nah!  
Eyebrows? - Check!  
Eyeliner? - Check!  
Mascara? - Check!  
Blush? - Che... Oops, that was perhaps a bit much.

Right, that look was ruined now. Okay, where was the flannel? Ah, there. And again.  
After her sixth attempt, Elizabeth gave up. How was one to figure out the right amount of everything? Presently she looked like a clown. And there was still no sign of Jane and Charles.

Hey, actually, why not finish what she'd started? Okay, all she needed to do was draw a line from each corner of her eyebrows down to her cheeks and then make a flourish to close the two lines at the bottom. Hm, that didn't look half bad, oddly enough. But somehow the foundation looked wrong with a clown-face. She didn't have white, but the green concealer might work. Yep, it did make her look wonderfully odd. - Right, now the gob. All she needed to do there was make wings at the corners of her mouth and slightly overdraw her lips. Jane would be proud of her. Yes, okay, she was taking the mickey, but when there was no other person to laugh at, what else was there to do but laugh at oneself? He-he, she did look ridiculous. Now blush. Lots of it. Perfect!  
Shit, _where_ were Jane and Bingley? It couldn't take that long, to get some paint, could it? What the heck kept them?

No, no thinking about handcuffs, kinky boots and whips. And no thinking about Will at the moment, not while trying not to think of handcuffs, kinky boots and whips at any rate.  
Okay, she perhaps should do something with her hair. Also not a real challenge considering that she had a knack for silly looking hairstyles. And thank goodness, she had just pushed the last hairpin into her messy up-do, when she heard voices and then a door being pushed open. At fucking last!  
'Lizzy?' she heard Jane ask tentatively into the room.  
'Perhaps she's gone out to catch some fresh air,' Bingley suggested before Elizabeth could say anything, his voice sounding somewhat hopeful.  
Yes, she got it, new love and all...  
'No, she's not!' Elizabeth interjected before she had to listen to something she'd rather not listened to. 'You locked me in the bloody bathroom, you twats!'  
'Oh no! Have you been in there the whole time?'  
'No, why? I went for a walk, did some shopping, went out for dinner... - Of course I was in here the whole bloody time!'  
From the other side, she could hear shuffling and then suddenly the door was flung open.  
'Lizzy?! What the...?'  
'I got bored,' Elizabeth shrugged.  
Jane tried to say something, but as tears were streaming down her face and she clung to her boyfriend in hysterical laughter, all that came out of her mouth was indiscernible but was probably along the lines of: 'I can see that!'  
It took a full five minutes for Jane to recover, and still grinning like a Cheshire cat she, at last, could form a full sentence: 'Shit, Lizzy, you look like Frankenstein's monster dressed up for Halloween.'  
'Well, that was the look I was going for. See, I don't need any help with my make-up. Now I just need to pop on my little black dress and wear those killer high-heels you've been torturing me with all day, and I am ready for a night out.'  
'Well,' Charles grinned, looking up from stirring the paint so they could get crackin', 'I am afraid for that your makeup might be a bit subtle. Nothing under a layer of half an inch of paint will do for any of the clubs around London.'  
'Okay, perhaps I do need help with my makeup then ater all then.'  
'Most certainly,' Jane laughed. 'And do you know what I need right now aside from a glass of wine? A picture of you like this.'  
'Cheers!' 


	33. Chapter 33 - Surprise!

_Chapter 33:_

 _Surprise!_

'Lizzy, can you please hold the other end of the rail?' Jane presently asked her while trying to thread it through the loops of the curtain.  
'Sure,' Elizabeth replied, putting aside the drill and pushing her hair out of her eyes.  
Just two more shelves, the curtains, and fluffing up the cushions and the room was done. At last!  
Time had flown by. By the way, why was it that whenever one started a quick project to re-decorate it took about five times as long as one thought it would? After all, they had done nothing but paint the walls, pep up the kitchen cabinets, repainted an old wardrobe to replace the cheap one that had come with the flat, naturally thrown the old one out, de-cluttered the room, put up some shelves, put new covers on the old chairs Jane had brought from Longbourn where they had been sitting in the attic literally for ages.  
Then they had crafted a new screen for the lamp using old wine bottles a glue gun and some wire, only to find that it was too dark and bulky besides for the small room. Coincidentally they then had found an electric fireplace in the junk-shop around the corner, build a mantelpiece for it, hung up some pictures, exchanged the door handles with doorknobs, then decided that the doors would look nicer if they were painted white and had a moulding, which was attached easily enough with a nailgun their uncle had lent them. After that, they had made another attempt to make a new lampshade, this time around with more success using balloons, fast-drying glue and rope; had put up some hooks and a railing atop the kitchen work-surface, ruined the tiled splash back in the process, so they had bought a thin wooden board and covered it in some more adhesive foil that had a mirror surface, and used the rest of the board, the spare moulding from the doors and a scrap of blackboard film from another project Jane had done a while ago, to make a memo-board. In short, up-cycling at its finest...

Last but not least they had replaced the old curtain-rail (actually a disused and painted broom handle) with a new one, only to find that the old curtains didn't fit over it, so Jane had made new ones. And only yesterday, they had decided, that the old couch table needed something to be done with as well. It was, what Elizabeth had been working on during the whole of the morning while Jane had been at work.  
So, not all that much, was it?  
At least Jane's bed-couch was new and in a state that nothing needed to be done with it as was the tiny dining table. Phew!  
'Eh, Lizzy, I think you should get ready, Darcy will be here soon...' Jane suddenly remarked and had Elizabeth startle.  
Shit, she had seriously lost track of time.

After an almost sleepless night filled with anticipation, Elizabeth had been wound up like a spring and thankfully there had been enough finishing touches to take care of to have her distracted, but oh dear, she still needed to pack and shower and change... - And Darcy had said he would be here around two. It was half-past one now. Great!  
Not much time to take a shower, get the dust out of her hair and the paint out from underneath her fingernails, get dressed and at least half-way decently groomed. But apparently, enough time to lose one's head and get one's knickers in a twist...  
'I'm almost done here and then go and get us something to eat, okay?'  
Elizabeth nodded in reply.  
She had just stripped her dirty clothes stuffing them into a bag so she could wash them as soon as she was back at Longbourn, trudged into the bathroom and was about to step into the shower when there was a ring at the door.  
'Please, please, please let it be the neighbour to ask for some sugar or something along those lines...' Lizzy chanted in her head.  
And why the heck did the water need twice as long to get warm as it normally did? It was this thing with Jane's shower, it worked perfectly fine, but unless one was tempted to freeze to death, one better had the water run for a minute or two to give it a chance to warm up. Usually it was just the amount of time one needed to step out of one's clothes, but apparently not today. The water stayed cold. If it were any colder, it would snow.  
Listening tentatively at the bathroom door, for the first time appreciating the thinness of the walls, it was clear, that it was not a neighbour who'd rung the bell. Will had arrived half an hour early. Argh!

And the water was still cold after five bloody minutes of running and the tap was on scalding. Okay, she had to try. Ice swimming was a thing, right? Why not ice showering? Nope, this was not a sport she'd try out again any time soon. At least she was wide awake. And shivering. And her clothes were laying on the dresser right next to her bag...  
'Jane?'  
'Jane's gone to get us a pizza. Are you okay?' she heard Will's voice from the other side.  
Great! She had so looked forward to hearing his voice, but right now? Not a good timing.  
'Yes, absolutely dandy, Will. Hi, by the way. Sorry to keep you waiting, I was just taking a shower and...'  
"… and I am trapped stark naked in the bathroom with a towel the size of a postcard..." Elizabeth finished in her head.  
'Are you sure you're alright? You sound... - stressed.'  
"I _am_ stressed!" Elizabeth thought o herself, but instead answered: 'No, I'm fine, just... - Ouch! Bloody hell! FUCK! That hurts...'  
Okay, it was most certainly not very lady-like to swear like a drayman, but where the heck did that bloody drawing pin come from all of a sudden? And it had wedged itself firmly into her heel. Swell!  
Before she could react the door was flung open.  
'Lizzy? Oh...'  
Darcy had burst into the room, panic written all over his face and then suddenly his jaw dropped. Simultaneously with her towel. Not that it had covered much, to begin with.  
Yes, "oh!" sums it up perfectly.  
'Wh... - what happened?' he stammered, fixing his gaze at a point over her shoulder.  
'I stepped into a drawing pin. I think I will live.'  
'I am glad to hear it.'  
'So, I think I will get dressed then, shall I?'  
'Well... - yes, I think that might be a plan,' Will stammered closing his eyes with a pained expression.  
Yes, yes, yes, she knew that her body was far from perfect. Her bum and legs were a bit fleshy and her waist a tad too narrow by comparison; she'd had inherited her mother's childbearing hips and the boobs to go with it, in short, she was the opposite of the slender ideal Jane literally personified. But seriously, no need to make it so bloody obvious that she wsn't exactly a looker. Men! What did they expect? That every woman was a supermodel?  
'I just need to get my clothes from the living room. I'll be done in no time,' she said somewhat testily.  
'Sure,' he mumbled in reply and then turned around, facing the wall while she picked up the clothes she'd laid out.  
In all honesty, going to Rosings suddenly didn't seem like such a good plan anymore. Then again, it was not Will's fault that she'd lost her heart to him. And, oh fuck, she had!

Yes, she had suspected it for some time, but still, the realisation hit her like a brick. Why was it, that one always realised these kind of things at the most inopportune times? But hey, they were still friends, right? Yes, why would that change only because he didn't find her physically attractive? She was still the same old Lizzy Bennet. But shit, she really felt like crying right now. Okay, no time for that. Undies, socks, denims and that nice new blouse and whatever Jane might say, she'd put on her Chucks instead of the heeled ankle boots. Much comfier and as it was, no need to impress anyway. No need to muck around with makeup and no need to style her hair other than comb it through and let it dry on its own.  
She stepped back into the main room to find Darcy sitting on the sofa reading one of the books she'd bought.  
'Please don't tell me anything, I didn't have the time to read it yet,' she smiled as best as she could.  
Glancing up from the pages of Sapiens, Will returned her smile, closing the volume.  
'Oh, I didn't get past the first two pages. Looks as if we can read it in tandem. I've got my copy down in the car.'  
This made her laugh again. What a bizarre coincidence. Yes, definitely friends. With a good deal in common. Good!  
'I see you also have Foucault's Pendulum lying around. A brilliant book that. A bit of a mind-fuck, but in my opinion one of the best books ever written.'  
'I've wanted to read it for ages, but that's another book I have not yet started. I only managed to get half-way through this book of Celtic fairy tales and legends. It's got a lot of history as well, so it's really interesting to see the stories in context.'  
If he was surprised that she read a book like that, he didn't let it on. Instead, he nodded thoughtfully and then pointed at the quite substantial pile of books next to her travelling bag.  
'Seeing the stack of literature you have acquired, I would be astonished if you had managed to read all of them within two weeks while at the same time renovating your sister's flat. It looks great, by the way. - I obviously can't make a comparison of how it looked before you decorated it, but this is a really pleasant room.'  
'Small...'  
'Comfortable, bright, warm,' Darcy enumerated, his gaze fixing on her as he spoke. 'Lovely...'  
Shit, did he have to stare at her with such intensity?  
'And small.'  
'Yes, but size doesn't matter, does it?'  
Well, that greatly depended on the topic, she presumed and how it was compensated.  
'No,' she, at last, agreed, trying to keep her wayward thoughts in check.  
Besides, her room at uni was smaller than Jane's twenty-four square meter bedsit and decidedly lacking personality. Yes, Jane's flat was small but lovely.  
'Pizza!'  
Ah, there was her sister.

Finally, they were on their way to Kent. The point of no return had been passed when she'd climbed into Darcy's Landrover. Traffic was dense, and every traffic light they came across was on red. Naturally. London of this time of day, even on the outskirts, meant crowded streets as all the commuters were on their way to their respective homes, and on a Friday the rush to at last enjoy some time off was even more prominent than on every other day of the week.  
How Darcy managed to stay so calm while manoeuvring them through the seemingly endless streets of South London, was beyond her. She'd have a heart attack a long time ago and he hadn't even so much as honked the horn.  
The distance was short enough and yet, it took them almost three hours to reach Westerham and then Hunsford five minutes later. Turning into an avenue lined by spectacular old maples whose leaves had just begun to turn red, she was taken aback by the sight of the Rosings. Almost out of nothing the house had suddenly appeared behind a bend in the road. There was little doubt that the effect was intentional and art of a well thought out plan when it was first built. Rosings was impressive.

It was huge, with rows and rows of large windows, an enormous staircase leading up to the main entrance and neat flower beds all around it. It was well kept, but perhaps a bit too much so. And the one thing that looked decidedly out of place was a streamer that announced the latest courses the place had to offer. Damn, she'd missed "Behave like a lady" and ...  
Ah well, she'd have to check later since Darcy had turned into a well-hidden car park, that was tucked away behind a dense hedge. He parked his car, helped her alight and then took both their bags from the trunk.  
'So there we are...' he stated, leading the way to the house.  
Again the streamer came into view. Ah yes, other courses she'd missed were "Proper housekeeping according to Mrs Beeton", "Hula Hoop Revival" and the "I do - wedding crash-course". Oh...

OMG! Her mouth dropped open. It was _this_ weekend! And it was the _only_ course scheduled...  
Speechless didn't even begin to describe what she felt as her jaw dropped down to her feet. 


	34. Chapter 34 - Iron self-restraint

_Chapter 34:_

 _Iron self-restraint_

Thank goodness the traffic was dense and he really needed to pay attention or otherwise, his thoughts would have strayed down a very dangerous road. Well, they did anyway and the result was slightly uncomfortable.

No, actually, sod it, cross out the slightly. It was hellishly uncomfortable and distracting. So much so, that he hardly spoke two words together during the whole of their near three-hour drive. Again, thank goodness that the roads were packed and he could blame it on his having to concentrate.

Well, he did need to concentrate, that much was true, but the reason he didn't speak was because his mouth had gone dry at the sight of her naked while the blood had left his brain and had rushed down south. And there it still mainly was, not quite obvious, but he was very conscious of it nonetheless. He had desperately tried not to look at her, but as it was, the full-length mirror right behind her had given him an almost perfect view of her rear and then she had bent down to remove the pin and...  
Damn she had looked gorgeous!

Curves in all the right places and that... - No, stop!

He had been lucky enough that she had been so preoccupied with that nasty little drawing pin that she'd missed his initial physical reaction or that he had unabashedly stared at her image in the mirror until he had almost forgotten himself. Phew!

But seriously, the last thing he needed right now was to recall the image of her in the nude, those soft ample hips, the narrow waist, those pert breasts and those buttocks, so wonderfully round, perfect for holding on to, pressing her into...

NO! Down boy! Three hours? It felt like a fucking eternity - unfortunately without the...- well you know what.  
When they finally turned into the driveway that led to Rosings, he was back in control. Okay, not really. But thinking of his aunt did the trick and though he was still tense, at least he wasn't stiff anymore.

Oh, and he still hadn't told Lizzy that though it was nothing but a dance course, Aunt Cathy had termed it a "wedding crash-course"...  
And sure enough, the banner she had put up so tastefully right over the grand entrance of her estate announced it loud and clear: "I do! - wedding crash-course".

As yet, Elizabeth had not seen it, but it had sprung to his eyes immediately.  
Okay, first things first, parking the car and entering the lion's den. There would be enough time for explanations later on. Helping Elizabeth out of the car, he took their bags and began walking hastily towards the house in the hopes that she'd miss the sign this time around as well. Originally he had intended to tell her on the way here what she was to expect, but the drive had been hard enough as it was. Quite literally...  
Oops, where was Lizzy? She had been by his side the whole time and it was not as if it was possible to get lost between the car park and the house. It was large enough to dominate its surroundings after all. Oh... - she had finally read the whole of the banner and now stood rooted to the spot staring at it open-mouthed. Great! He was in at the deep end, of what felt more like a cesspit than a pool if he was honest.  
'Eh, Elizabeth?'  
'This is a fuck-up, right?' she, at last, stammered, pointing at the sign.  
'Well, my aunt has a preference for both fancy and ridiculous slogans as you can see. It is a dance course for couples, just as I have told you, only that Aunt Catherine has termed it "wedding crash-course",' he replied in what he hoped was a reassuring manner.  
'Okay...'  
She sounded less than convinced. Truth be told, he wasn't all that sure anymore either. Perhaps he should have read through the programme of the course before asking Lizzy along. Or even before agreeing. Well, too late for that.  
'Will, are you getting married? Is that why you need to learn how to dance?'  
What, where did that come from? He thought it was bloody obvious that he didn't. Well, if she would consent to marry him, yes, then he would, of course, but this was probably not the right moment to drop down to his knees and pop the question.  
'No, I'm not getting married.'  
Right, that had come out harsher than he had intended. But seriously, he was incredulous at her question. How could she even assume such a silly thing?  
'Why do you think I asked you to come with me if I were? If I had a girlfriend, I hardly would have had to ask _you_.'  
No, no, no... That had also come out the wrong way. Completely wrong. Shit, she wasn't just a fill-in, she was the very woman he wanted to spend a weekend with, dance with, hold close. Actually, he wanted to spend the remainder of his life with her, make a couple of babies and love her till death parted them. But it had to be one step at a time, right?  
'So you asked me... - Fair enough. After all, you've helped us out so much, we definitely owe you, right?'  
She sounded hurt. Argh... Could this day go any more tits-up?  
'Lizzy, you owe me nothing. It was my duty to help and I did.'  
Okay, her face clearly showed that that had not been the right answer either.

On the other hand, it was the truth. He hadn't asked her because she owed him, but because he wanted to see her again.  
'Okay,' she, at last, sighed, sounding clearly disappointed, 'then perhaps we should better go in. Looks as if it is going to rain.'  
There she was certainly right. The clouds that had gathered in the distance while they had been driving here had come ever so much closer. And before they knew it, it started to pour down as if someone had opened a tap. The cold water one.  
They dashed towards the front entrance but nonetheless were soaked through by the time they entered the building.  
'Oh, is it raining?' the receptionist asked as she spotted them.  
'No, we decided to go for a swim in the fountain...'  
'But that is not allowed, Sir.'  
Okay, sarcasm was obviously lost on the young woman. At least she seemed friendly enough and she was a pretty little thing, a combination that didn't often go together, it usually was the one or the other.  
'We're here for the weekend course and would like to pick up our keys. Bookings are under Fitzwilliam Darcy and Elizabeth Bennet.'  
'Ah yes, the wedding crash-course. There have been a couple of changes to the programme, but we've put an updated leaflet into your room. Here is the key. You are in room 215, which is just up these stairs and then to the left, first door to the right. Dinner is in about an hour. Will you require anything else, Sir, Madam?'  
'The key to the other room?'  
'Other room?'  
'Yes, we booked two rooms. I mean, I did.'  
Right, he hadn't exactly booked the rooms or the course, his aunt had, but he had explicitly told her that Lizzy and he would require two separate rooms, he was certain of it. Very much so.

The young receptionist turned the thick volume containing the reservations towards him and pointed at the entry in question.  
'No, see, Darcy/Bennet, room 215.'  
'I also see that it was originally rooms 221a and 221b...'  
That one at least would have been two rooms, though with a connecting door and a shared bathroom.  
'Yes, but we had a couple coming in who had booked several weeks ago and whose babysitter cancelled at the last moment, and Miss de Bourgh decided to switch rooms so the children could stay in the one room and the parents in the other.'  
Okay, there would be enough time later to throttle his cousin, but for now, he needed to get another room. They were starting to get cold in their wet clothes. Lizzy was shivering already and it had not been too long ago that she'd been ill.  
'Surely there must be other rooms available. Are you to tell me you are fully booked?'  
That would be a first, he was certain.  
'Technically we're not, Sir. But the east wing is closed due to refurbishment, so I am very sorry, but I can't give you another room. I mean, you are getting married, right? - Oh, or are you one of those couples who condemn sex before marriage?' she suddenly sounded fascinated. 'Do you really never think of having sex?'  
All the way here, actually and in every position imaginable...

's it is, we're not getting married, miss. We're not a couple but friends.'  
But hopefully, that would change...  
'Oh, but I sleep over at my friend's all the time or he sleeps over at my place and we never had any problems with that.'  
TMFI. Did she really think he cared what she did in her time off?  
'Is he straight?' Darcy couldn't help asking.

The girl wasn't his type, but she was fairly pretty and if a man was horny enough...  
'No.'  
Of course not.  
Well, for now, there was little point continuing with this argument, he would have to speak to either his cousin or aunt as soon as he got the chance, but for now, they should get out of their wet attire.  
'Let's get changed, Lizzy. I'll sort it out later, okay?'  
'Sure.'  
Of course, Lizzy's mood had grown even darker by the looks of it.  
'Will, if you'd rather go home, that's alright with me...' she began hesitantly while he tried to unlock the door.  
It swung back with a creak to reveal a comfortable if stuffy room, clearly furnished before his aunt had a thing going for Feng Shui.  
'Lizzy, I...' he stopped pinching the bridge of his nose. He had to get this right. 'No, I don't want to go home and I don't want you to go home either. Seriously, I wouldn't have asked you to come along, if I hadn't wished to spend the weekend with you, okay? I am glad you accepted to come along and had you declined, I would not have come here at all.'  
Damn, the smile that lit up her face was irresistible! That in combination with her wet blouse, which had gone almost see-through from the rain, was enough to have his self-restraint slip once again. It was only the knock on the door which kept him from kissing her there and then. Blast!

He wanted to kiss those lips. Now! Forever! Over and over again.  
'Come in!'  
'Hi, Will, sorry about the mess up,' Anne smiled apologetically, peeking in through the open door. 'But I am afraid there really is nothing I can do for you. Sally said she told you about the refurbishments. I would let you bunk on my sofa, but Richard has already claimed that for himself. In short, there's no alternative.'  
'Richard? Fitz is here?'  
Anne shrugged: 'He came by yesterday on his way back from Dover where he'd been for some special training, or something. Don't ask me. He'd just wanted to say hello, but when mum told him you were expected today, he decided to stay for the weekend.'  
Right. This was slowly but surely turning into a family meeting.

Perhaps that was just as well. He could introduce Lizzy and with Fitz being Fitz, Darcy could be certain that his parents would only hear the best of the woman he was about to get married to. - For that would be exactly what his cousin would tell the Earl. That he was to marry Elizabeth.  
Fitz was the youngest son of the Earl of Matlock, his uncle. Yes, such titles are still in existence and as had been done centuries ago, they still were passed on from father to oldest son. Fitz, actually Richard Fitzwilliam and his brother George, as the younger siblings had an allowance but otherwise had to make their own way, and followed the equally old tradition to go into the army. While George eventually resigned and was now working for the government, Fitz was a colonel training officers at the Royal Military Academy in Sandhurst after he had been shot on a mission. But that again was an altogether different story.  
'So no second room for us...'  
'Afraid not. Sorry.'  
'We'll manage,' Elizabeth threw in with a slight tremble to her voice, making his cousin smile nonetheless.  
Anne was such a plain, haggard looking person, that her smile actually was like a slap in the face as it lit up her features and brought some colour to her pale cheeks. It made her look almost breathtakingly beautiful. Though part of that impression was probably due to surprise.  
'Good,' his cousin answered. 'Then I suggest you get changed. Dinner is in half an hour and you look like you've taken a bath with your clothes on. But then again, it has been pouring down and is still raining hard. See you later.'  
'So that was your cousin?' Elizabeth inquired when the door had closed behind Anne de Bourgh.  
'Yes.'  
'She seems very nice,' she remarked while she pulled a towel out of her bag, still shivering.  
He would make sure to light the fireplace later on. Damn, that again brought quite naughty thoughts to surface.  
'She is. Without her, the seminar would have gone down the drain long ag...' Darcy trailed off.  
Towel in hand, Elizabeth had slipped behind the old-fashioned screen by the window and the next thing he knew was that she had taken off her blouse and thrown it over the top. Her bra followed suit. Alone the thought that she stripped, even though he could not see a thing was enough to cause his body to react. Again! He most certainly had a too lively imagination. Or rather too good of a memory.  
Bloody hell, how the fuck could she miss what she did to him? And idiot that he was, he had left the condoms at home thinking that it would be too presumptuous to bring them along. Shit!

But they were supposed to be in two separate rooms...  
Seriously, at this point, the dancing was the last thing he worried about.


	35. Chapter 35 - Wanted: Supernanny

_Chapter 35:_

 _Wanted: Supernanny_

So, what was she to put on? She didn't really know what was expected, but considering that this was an event seminar, presumably casual would be okay. Then again, if they danced, it might be expected that she'd wear something more flashy... She would ask Will if he were not still in the shower. Heck, what took him so long anyway? She could do with a bit of freshening up. Due to the damp, her hair had curled up even more than it normally did and if she didn't brush it now, later on, it would be hopelessly tangled.  
As the water stopped running, she realised that she'd better get a move on. Yes, admittedly, she'd dawdled a bit as well, but she really was at a loss as to what would be appropriate to wear. Okay, dress it was. It was quicker to put on. The grey one with the embroidery at the hem she'd actually brought from home would do. It was plain enough to count as casual and elegant enough to pass as fancy. The stockings she could always put on later. Yes, stockings, not tights, Jane had been very specific about that. Well, Jane also thought that Darcy fancied her. Yeah, right!  
Thank goodness she wasn't a drama queen. This weekend would be hard enough without her throwing a tantrum, and after all, it was nothing but her own stupid feelings that had gotten in the way, nothing more. It was not Will's fault that she had fallen in love with him. He still liked her, even when he didn't think her pretty and that had to be enough. He need never know what she really felt for him if she was careful. She might lay awake, wishing he'd hold her, but they could still talk and laugh together surely. Or they could peacefully sit next to each other and read. Hey, that was something! Yes, okay, it had a touch of masochism, to be sure, but there was nothing to be done about that, was it?  
The door to the bathroom opened and Darcy stepped out. She apparently had made the right decision, as he had changed into a pair of grey, rather formal trousers, a button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled up and a muted blue waistcoat. Wait, wasn't that the one he'd worn with his Regency clothes? Yep. And it suited him now just as much as it had then. It brought out his grey eyes to much advantage, giving them a deep blue hue.

Fuck, how could one man be so incredibly handsome?  
'Done?' he asked looking at her, his eyes widening a fraction, while his brows knitted and his mouth set into a firm line.  
Yes, yes, yes, the dress didn't look as smooth on her as it would on Jane or even Caroline Bingley, she was well aware of that. She was a bit curvy and it made her look a little bit like a Marilyn Monroe wannabe, but sod it. She would not change into something else now.  
'Almost,' she smiled.  
Remember, no drama...! No irrational thoughts about love and all that shite.  
Stepping into the bathroom, she struggled the brush through her curls, slipped on the stockings and then put on her pumps. The granny ones she'd bought without her sister's knowledge, obviously. Ah, bliss!

Yes, she was ready to go. And as it was, this day could only get better, couldn't it? All hope was gone already, so nothing to lose. Ha!  
They were the last to enter, the dining room already filled with merry looking couples holding hands and flirting with one another in an almost sickeningly manner. Well, aside from one couple that was quite busy taming their three unruly children. And it was right next to them, where the only two vacant seats were to be located. Naturally. Okay, her assessment had been wrong, it could get even more downhill.  
'Shall we?' Darcy asked, offering his arm.  
'Do we have a choice?'  
'Not unless we want to miss dinner. And my aunt, I fear is very particular about dinner hours. - There she is, by the way.'  
He pointed at a stout looking woman with a stern face at the head of one of the tables before waving to her. She only deigned to nod back, while Elizabeth felt greatly tempted to curtsy. It was like in medieval times. Nobility at the head table, peasants at the lower ones.  
'The man sitting next to her is Fitz, well, and Anne you've met. The other lady is Mrs Jenkinson, her right hand. Though she is usually so busy catering to my aunt's every whim, that Anne has to do her job on top of her own.'  
'What exactly does your cousin do? I thought she was the manager here.'  
'She should be, but she's actually doing the accounts.'  
'Oh...'  
'Good evening, may we take a seat here?'  
They had reached the table where the kids, or rather the two eldest of them, still put up a fight over who was to sit next to whom, and on what colour cushion. The latter had been provided to raise them a little off their seats so their noses would reach over the table top and keep the mess in check while they ate. The little buggers did not seem very willing to comply...  
Well, and the parents had obviously given up.

Where was Supernanny when she was needed the most? Or alternatively Mary Poppins?  
'But I don't want the purple one!' the little girl next to her screeched for the umpteenth time. 'I want to be the pink princess and that is why I need the pink pillow!'  
'No,' her slightly older sister replied, sticking out her tongue, then turned towards Darcy, tongue still showing before adding her middle finger for emphasis.  
She somehow reminded Elizabeth of her two youngest sisters at that age.

At least the smallest member of the family was blissfully unconcerned by his sister's troubles as he repeatedly slammed his spoon onto the tray of his high chair.  
It was going to be very interesting how the parents thought the course would go with their little spawns of hell in attendance...  
Dinner was served, by means of putting terrines, bowls and trays in the centre of each table so everyone could help themselves. The honey glazed gammon looked divine, but apparently not so much to the children.  
'But I want chicken nuggets!' the pink princess, still squirming around on her purple cushion demanded.  
While her sister simply remarked: 'I don't eat _that_!'  
'Then what would you like to eat?' her mother cooed while mashing some potatoes and gravy for her youngest, who by now had thrown away his spoon in impatience, almost hitting Elizabeth with it.  
'Not that!'  
Oh, really? Now that answered the question...  
'Shall I ask for some nuggets then?'  
While one daughter nodded eagerly, the other shook her head with petulance.  
'How about some mash?'  
'Pizza!'  
'I... - I am not sure they've got pizza here, darling.'  
'But I want _PIZZA_!'  
By now the whole dining room had turned their eyes towards the noisy group and Anne de Bourgh made her way over to them.

If it were her children, she would've died of shame at this point, but the parents seemed completely unconcerned that their offspring ruined everybody else's evening. Thinking about it, it was actually the perfect practice for a wedding breakfast, as there were bound to be children around, weren't there?  
'Yes, we'll get you pizza, darling,' the mother smiled, just when Anne had reached them.  
Thank goodness. Help was here.  
'I want _PIZZA_!' the girl demanded before her mother could say anything.  
'Of course,' Anne smiled tiredly.  
'And I want chicken nuggets!'  
'Yes, I'll tell the chef. It will be a while, but I am sure we can organise something.'  
'But I am hungry _NOW_!'  
'Then you'll have to eat what is on the table. It's as simple as that,' Darcy, cutting some lices of gammon, remarked sternly and with the effect that both girls started crying.  
They really were masters of manipulation, for their eyes stayed suspiciously dry as they sobbed seemingly inconsolably.  
'Now really!' the mother flared up then turned towards Elizabeth. 'Are you sure you want to marry a man like that?'  
'Yes,' she replied casually, helping herself to some gammon.  
Well, they didn't need to know that Will and she were not actually getting married, but by now her ears sported quite a bit and had Darcy not lost his cool, she would have. And to think that due to this bunch Will and her now had to share a room! No wonder the babysitter had bolted. She would have done so, too.  
To her surprise, Darcy calmly sliced some more gammon and without further ado put a small piece of it on each of the girl's plates.  
'Try!'  
It was obvious, that the girls had intended to throw yet another tantrum, but the authority in Will's voice stopped them in their tracks and a little reluctant they followed his order.  
'That's nice,' the pink princess muttered with her mouth full of meat, while her sister only nodded.  
'Right, I think that settles it, Anne. The food _is_ lovely by the way.'  
Again his cousin smiled.  
'Are you sure you like it?' the mother asked worriedly.  
Elizabeth could have throttled her.

Seriously? It was obvious that they did, with the way they tucked in with so much zeal she would not have believed it had she not seen it for herself.  
Fortunately, both girls only nodded, happily munching away like two hungry caterpillars.  
'Mash?' Darcy asked after they had polished off their plate without much ado, chewing with their mouths open.  
'Please.'  
'Veggies?'  
'Nah.'  
'You are right, they are too healthy anyway. More meat?'  
'Yes!'  
By now even the kids' father cast a thankful glance at Darcy, while the mother was still smouldering, presumably fretting over a stranger who had achieved more in five minutes than she had achieved in the time since her children's birth.

How was it anyway that he knew how to handle little girls throwing a temper tantrum? Ah yes, his little sister. Shit, that girl was lucky to have a big brother such as him. He would make a great dad one day.  
She had no sooner thought that now all was well and they could all eat the rest of the meal in peace and perhaps have a bit of a conversation when the little boy started to play up. Of course!  
'What's wrong my darling?'  
Seriously? He was rubbing his eyes, hm, what could possibly be wrong with him? And on top of that, he had this suspiciously concentrated look on his face. One she still remembered from when Lydia was small. And sure enough, the fart was loud enough to have people over at the other table stare at them. And not only that, the olfactory component was mind-boggling, which had to say something, considering that she was used to shovelling shit as a livelihood.  
At least the stench made that even the mother got the hint and disappeared carrying her youngest at arm's length while the father gathered his daughters together.  
'Good night!' they both waved happily, and with a grin Elizabeth realised that the younger girl finally snatched the pink cushion on her way out of the room.  
Silence erupted when the family had left, presumably as many thought about whether they were ready to have children of their own or rather not. It was quite amusing to watch the various expressions, some of relief, others of annoyance, and others rather contemplative.  
It was Fitz who interrupted her thoughts as he plunked down on the now vacant chair next to Will.  
'So, Darcy, I see you haven't lost your touch with children,' he joked.  
'Apparently not.'  
'He's good with children,' the young man grinned, nudging his cousin's shoulder, before reaching out his hand. 'Richard Fitzwilliam, or Fitz for short. Nice to finally meet the woman my cousin is going to marry...'  
'We're not...' Darcy stammered.  
'Yes, yes, yes, I know. You rather stay single and sit in your library at Pemberley reading the night away instead of... - Okay, that is perhaps not appropriate for the ears of a lady.'  
'Who said I am a lady?'  
'No-one. It is unnecessary to do so. I hope my cousin has not missed the opportunity to tell you that you look drop dead gorgeous in that dress?'  
Yeah, right!  
'We had to hurry or we would have been late, Fitz,' Darcy replied evasively.  
'Ah, perhaps that was just as well. Seriously, my cousin can be a bit too prim and proper, don't you agree? Had it been me, we would not have gotten out of that room for the next couple of hours.'  
'Fitz!'  
'No, really. Not when my girlfriend would be wearing a dress like that.'  
Darcy frowned while Fitz grinned cheekily, and did she hallucinate, or did he stuff something into Darcy's pocket?  
'There is nothing wrong with Lizzy's dress. She looks stunning in it.'  
'Oh, so you did take notice? Wow! Ah, I see, our aunt is going to hold her usual welcoming-speech. Well, have fun then. Both of you. - And Lizzy, if my cousin proves to be too bad of a dancer, you'll find me in the billiard room.'  
'Sorry about that,' Will muttered, just when Lady Catherine raised her voice to greet them all.  
All, that was, minus the couple with the kids.  
'Welcome to Rosings Park, I hope you will have a lovely stay and that the course will help you on the greatest day of your life - your wedding day!' she announced pompously. 'As you might have seen already, we've had to make a couple of changes to our initial programme, and since the dance instructors couldn't make it this evening, we will offer type-consultation for the ladies instead, and rhetoric lessons for the men and have the dancing lessons all day tomorrow.'  
'Rhetoric lessons?' Darcy voiced dumbfounded. 'Whatever for?'  
'Making speeches, I presume. Actually, after staying with Jane for almost two weeks, I am not much in the mood for another type-consultation. Do you think I could skive off and read instead? I mean, it's the dancing classes we are here for, right?'  
'Yep. - Perfect plan. Do you mind if I join you?'  
'No, not in the least.'

Well, it would have been too easy, she presumed. They had not made their way out of the dining room when they came face to face with their formidable host. Up close Lady Catherine de Bourgh looked even sterner than she had from afar, and Elizabeth noticed that she had, in fact, little in common with her daughter.  
'Ah, there you are Fitzwilliam! I hope you have found everything to your liking. Now, if you would have the courtesy to introduce me to your partner...'  
'Well...' Darcy stammered, looking sheepish. 'There seems to be a problem with the rooms.'  
'What? What is wrong with my accommodations? I was under the impression they were perfectly sufficient for their purpose.'  
'Oh, yes, they are, but you see, we require a second room.'  
'Come, don't be silly. Why would you need another room? If this lady - whom by the way you still have not introduced - is your girlfriend, you can have no objections, to share a room with her and if she is not, then I don't see a problem either. You know how to keep your hands to yourself, don't you? She is a rather pretty sort of person I have to say, if perhaps a bit short. And I never much liked freckles.'  
Okay, the woman was blunt. In a very blunt manner. Heck, Elizabeth wasn't sure if she had ever met such a straightforward person. Yes, she was quite frank herself, but there was such a thing as too much honesty, right?  
'This, Aunt Cathy, is Miss Elizabeth Bennet - Elizabeth, this is my aunt, Lady Catherine de Bourgh...'  
'Pleasure, Madam,' Elizabeth actually curtsied, and deeply at that.  
She could not help it. It was almost a reflex. The result was an unexpected one as the stern lady's mouth started twitching as she glanced at her perplexed looking and oddly enough blushing nephew.  
'Likewise, Miss Bennet. May I make a suggestion?'  
'Yes, of course.'  
The lady leaned forward and whispered, quite audibly, so that everyone around them was sure to hear it: 'When wearing a short, fitted dress, you should not curtsy quite so low unless, of course, you like flashing your underwear.'  
Oh, fuck! She had shown her stockings and the suspenders she'd attached them to for safety to everyone who'd glanced in their direction. And since she had been speaking to the far famed Lady Catherine, that had been quite a few. No wonder she had felt as if all eyes were on her. They were, and for all the wrong reasons.  
'Well, I'll leave you to your classes then. Ladies this way, and men that. Enjoy your stay.'  
And, with that, she took Elizabeth's arm and led her to her doom before - PUFF! - like a genie, she was gone. Blast!

Was nothing going right today? Yeah, the answer was blatantly obvious: No! 


	36. Chapter 36 - Rhyme-time

_Chapter 36:_

 _Rhyme-time_

Well, technically, now that his aunt had gone leading Elizabeth away and to her doom, he could sneak upstairs and read, as Lizzy had suggested they should, or rather perv about the sight of the lace of her stockings when her dress had slipped up just now. Not to mention the suspenders. But hey, without her right beside him on the sofa that would not be fair, would it? Not when she was trapped among a bunch of brides all desperate for advice on how to look good on their wedding day. And in all likeliness as artificial as they possibly could.

Elizabeth, on the other hand, was perfect just the way she was. Seriously, there were women who looked worse with makeup on than without and he was sure Lizzy belonged to the latter group. Yes, he had seen her with a little bit of war paint, so to say, on karaoke-night, and she had still looked lovely, but it had been so little makeup, that it hardly counted and besides he still thought her prettier without.  
With having a younger sister, he once in a while flipped his way through all the various magazines, most of them a sorry excuse for felling trees to make paper, and as far as he could discern, the trend nowadays tended towards as much makeup as humanly possible until ones face looked like that of an altogether different person. One trend that had him burst out laughing was the "no-makeup makeup" one. Yes, he got it, some people were not blessed with flawless skin, but still, oh the irony!  
With a little sigh, he made his way over to the classroom, only to find a group of bewildered looking men. Yes, he got it. He was bewildered, too...  
Great, they were in pre-school apparently, as the chairs had been put in a neat circle and no shit, in the middle lay what he assumed was a discarded chiffon curtain in bright red on which an array of weird unconnected items had been placed: a heart-shaped biscuit tin, the framed picture of a kissing couple, another one that showed just two people holding hands, a baby-doll (shit, that thing was fugly!), fancy knickers, a bra (judging by the size of it meant to hold a pair of watermelons), a dusty looking veil, a small jewellery box, baby-shoes, a bottle of champagne, a single red rose, a single white rose just for good measure apparently, an ancient camera with a broken lens and... - eh, handcuffs?  
That did indeed spur the imagination... Kinky!

Unless one thought about marriage in the sense of shackling two people together.

Okay, perhaps not so kinky. But shouldn't it be leg-shackles then?

Right, he was not in the mood for such philosophical questions. In actual fact, the one thing he was in the mood for since he'd entered the room was a large amount of alcohol. Yes, not strictly a solution, but it was a decent enough numbing-agent when it came to it.  
Looking over his shoulder all the tables that had been pushed to the side of the room to make space in the middle held, were bottles of water, some sparkly, others still, and apple juice right next to neatly stacked and very colourful Tupperware cups. Yes, he'd almost forgotten he was in pre-school. Now he remembered.

Hm, would they start their class with a little song? He was quite curious all of a sudden. Shoot, the only children's song he could remember was "The wheels on the bus".  
Since Georgiana had a _tiny_ aversion against spiders, when a child, "Itsy bitsy spider" had never gone down all that well with her. He still remembered the one time when she had to be picked up from kindergarten after she had dissolved into hysterics when they had play-acted the song and when later that night she had crawled into his bed because she had been too scared to sleep in her own. She and her teddy bear. And her stuffed mummy-dog. And all its puppies, the bunny with the purple ears, the floppy horse, her snuggly blanket, her favourite doll and, and, and...

By the end of the night he had ended up on the floor, but hey, what were big brothers for? Shit, was that really more than ten years ago? Yes. He was growing old. Time to plan the funeral and order a coffin. Perhaps he should suggest a course for planning one's own funeral...  
Okay, his thoughts had turned slightly sinister, but by the looks of it, he wasn't the only one with dark thoughts.

Almost all of the men around him appeared rather wary, and when the door at last opened to reveal their tutor, he realised they had every reason to.  
'Good evening, ladies and gentleman,' William Collins beamed, completely ignoring the fact that there were only men in the room, unless, of course, he spoke about his own alter-ego, Penny Morton.  
But seriously, that man and rhetoric should not be put in the same sentence, let alone in front of a classroom of at any rate confused men.  
'I am so sorry I am late, but the roads were quite clogged. I, of course, called in to ensure her Ladyship that I would be right on time for the classes, and so I would have been, had I not been held up by my noble patroness, Lady Catherine de Bourgh herself. The very woman whose workshops have enabled me to do the one or other class at her wonderful establishment here, when she offered a course in how to motivate children to get interested in learning. Ah, she is all affability and condescension, I have to say, never fails to inquire after one's well-being and the journey one had. Well, and before we knew it, it was past the hour. - Please forgive me. But Lady Catherine always says, that one has to pay proper respect to those who support one, and I quite agree. - Ah, Mr Darcy! - And here is a nephew of this noble woman amongst us. I am sure you will set the perfect example for your fellow men assembled here.'  
Oh, really? Good to know.  
'So, I would say we all sit down comfortably and then have a little introductory round.'  
Collins beamed as if Christmas had come early and had brought Easter with it and then he did something that had Darcy almost fall off his chair: he pulled out a multi-coloured soft-ball.

Yes, men never really grew up, but come on! This was taking it a tad too far.  
'Now, I will throw this ball at one of you, and whoever catches it will tell us something about himself.'  
The enthusiasm in the room was exactly what Darcy had expected - non-existent. And when Penny did as he had threatened and threw the ball, it was with little surprise that no-one caught it. It bumped off the first guy, dodged the leg of the chap next to him and then fell at another fellow's feet where it now lay abandoned. Bewildered Collins stared at the ball, seemingly at a loss as to what to do next.  
He was saved by the most unexpected person, and presumably the only person present who would have delighted in this little game.  
'Ba-ba!' the little boy from earlier at dinner cried out happily, wriggling from his father's arms the moment he had come into the room.  
Well, Darcy had wondered how they would manage with their bunch of unruly kids and here now was the answer. They were not, everybody else was.  
In an attempt to turn the situation around, Penny smiled at the child before asking: 'So, and what is your name? Have you set a date yet?'  
The answer was a cheeky grin followed by another impressive fart. How was it, that this kid wasn't floating in the air with the amount of wind he seemingly kept in his tummy?  
To make a long story short, after about twenty minutes in which everybody was quite occupied with rolling the ball towards the little rascal, the child was tired enough to clamber onto the next best lap, which incidentally happened to be Darcy's, of course, and fell asleep.

Needless to say, that still there had been no introductions, and as by then even Penny seemed to have realised that it was a futile effort to have another try, he finally started with the lesson. Yeah!  
'So, what I am here to teach you, is to make a proper speech for your wedding...,' Collins started afresh only to be interrupted by a grumpy looking man pointing out that this task normally fell to the best man.  
'Well, but perhaps... - Anyway. So, I have brought a couple of items along when I was here last week...'  
'You have taught before? Wow!' another man threw in with a _hint_ of irony.  
'No, I took a course.'  
'Would that be "Mrs Beeton's household-management" or the "hula-hoop revival"?' Darcy couldn't help asking.  
'"Behave like a lady", actually.'  
Snickers followed this statement. And images of William Collins in a flouncy dress arranging flowers threatened to disturb his peace of mind. Okay, imagining Penny with a hula-hoop wasn't all that much better. Possibly even worse, if he thought about it.  
'What I would like you to do is choose two items each and try and come up with a little rhyme that describes them.'  
Eh, come again?  
When once again no-one stirred, Collins picked up the doll and the camera, presumably because they were closest to him. Hm, that would be interesting. Trying to think of something that rhymed with camera, nothing popped up.  
'Now, this is a camera.'  
No shit!  
'And this is a doll.'  
Really?  
'And I am now going to try and make up a little poem, just so you have an idea what I am talking about.'  
A man two chairs down from him raised his hand.  
'Yes?'  
'I need to go potty, Sir.'  
Hm, he had been wondering when the lesson would degrade to the stage where toilet-humour was deemed appropriate. Not that Penny realised that they took the mickey.  
'Then go.'  
'And don't forget to wash your hands,' someone added.  
'Yes, yes, quite right.'  
Argh! His aunt couldn't be serious in hiring this man for such a task, surely. Or she had a very twisted sense of humour he hadn't noticed before...  
' _Your beauty is like a picture painted by Picasso,  
I love you more than words can say,  
I dream at night of you being by my side,  
and of the day when I can finally say: I do!_ \- So, what do you say?'  
'I think Dada is an interesting choice of style,' Darcy remarked dryly. 'Though perhaps it is a rather dubious compliment to say that the woman one loves looks like a painting from Picasso...'  
'You think?'  
'Yes.'  
'Okay. Why don't you have a go? - Come, choose something from our lovely display.'  
'No.'  
'Come, we will all have a turn, Mr Darcy.'  
'Then I take the handcuffs and the bottle of champagne...'  
'Wonderful!'  
Nope.  
After about a minute of contemplation Darcy began:

' _Your cuffs and collar don't quite match,  
_ Not even close _would be a stretch  
but then I drank a bottle of sparkling wine  
and realised that you were mine.  
And so I'm here a rhyming wretch._'  
'You are not taking this seriously, are you?' Collins asked with nothing but surprise in his voice.  
'No.'  
'Oh, okay. So, right, who's next?'  
Okay, he had to say one thing about this man, he didn't give up easily. But a good soldier knew when a battle was lost, and this one had been lost about an hour ago. To be more precise, the moment William Collins had stepped into the room.

Needless to say that no-one volunteered and the only noteworthy occurrence during the silence that followed was the sleeping toddler sprawled across his lap, who figuratively pointed out what most of the attendants thought about the lesson by once again filling his nappy to the brim.  
When Darcy pressed the smelly boy into his father's arms, the man took the queue and quickly left, while the rest of the party scrambled to their feet and piled out of the room under the pretence of needing to catch some fresh air and ultimately went in search for something to drink. Something that wasn't water or apple juice.

They found what they were looking for in the person of his cousin Richard, who had, presumably unbeknownst to their aunt, opened the bar. Good man!  
Darcy could swear that Fitz must have been eavesdropping. But for now, he had more pressing matters to attend to, like laying his hands on a pint. A pint full of draught, not water! The others seemed to agree with him there as everybody drank with surprising speed and willingness.  
'So, how was your lesson?' Fitz asked, when everybody held a beer in hand, some even two.  
'Interesting.'  
Hm, that surely was worth a degree in putting things politely, right?  
'Liked your Limerick, mate.'  
Ha, he'd known it! Of course, his cousin would snoop.  
'And I like the fact that you had the foresight to provide the numbing,' Darcy replied. 'What you see here is a room full of traumatised men. Seriously, I wonder how many couples will still get married after this weekend.'  
He could not help wondering if the ladies fared any better, but then again, their class was not taught by _Penny Morton_ , so there was hope for them yet.  
'Ah, come now, it wasn't all that bad.'  
'True, it was ultimately worse,' Darcy replied, helping himself to another beer.  
'I actually think I should invite him over to Sandhurst for provocation-training.'  
'Brilliant plan, but I hope you'll make sure your men are unarmed.'  
'Where is the fun in that?'  
'The fun is in finding other, more creative ways to silence him than to just shoot him after two minutes.'  
'Like hanged, drawn and quartered?'  
'For example.'

'Hm, god point, Darcy.'

'Hello? Where is everybody?' the meek voice of their rhetoric instructor sounded from the corridor a quarter of an hour later.  
'Somewhere else!' someone answered.  
Someone who was decidedly pissed already. Some achievement in such a short amount of time. He either was a very fast drinker or a teetotaller driven by Mr Collins to break his pledge.  
'Yes, but where?' Penny's voice piped up again, just outside the door behind which they had all huddled together.  
'Having a swim in the fucking fountain,' the same man shouted.  
'Ah, thank you...'  
And there went Mr Collins never to be heard of again... - Not this weekend anyway. Phew!


	37. Chapter 37 - Fifty shades of white

_Chapter 37:_

 _Fifty shades of white_

With a firm grip, Lady Catherine de Bourgh led her into the lion's den aka, their classroom. Well, it was certainly not what she had expected. It looked more like an overstuffed bridal salon, and sure enough, a sign on the only wall not lined by clothes rails announced that the dresses had been provided by the "Westerham Bridal Parlour". Wow, they could not have come up with a more innovative or catchy name if they had tried...  
Most of the women looked quite keen. Naturally, since they were actually getting married, so fair enough. She was perfectly happy to take a backseat.  
Pouring herself a glass of water, Elizabeth did just that, sitting down as far to the back of the room as she could, which was still not far enough for her taste, while all the other ladies had tried to get as close to the front as was possible. Everyone waited with bated breath for what was to come, like a herd of cows standing at the gate when it was time to bring them in for milking. Okay, a mumbling herd of cows, for though the tension was almost palpable, it did not stop the crowd from whispering to one another, occasionally pointing at the one or other dress. Whether it was in delight or contempt, she could not quite make out, and at any rate, to her, the gowns kind of all looked the same. Some shade of white or another a few with some glitzy stuff on them, others sporting lace and some rather plain and unadorned. The more conservative version of "Fifty shades of Grey" so to say.

'Hello, Ladies!' a shrewd-looking compact and jovial woman all but yelled waltzing her way down the room like an avalanche.  
A very peach-coloured avalanche with a touch of purple here and there, wearing a bright pink hat with a lime-green flower. In contrast to all the white gowns in the background, her attire, which no-one could call subtle even at the best of times, stood out like a cow on London Bridge. More so, if she thought about it. Amongst all the buses one might be able to overlook a single cow, but this dress was something that even the most short-sighted person could not miss. Besides, it had not been all that long since cattle had been ushered into town via London Bridge bound for Smithfield Market. Okay, history lesson over, on to style consultation. Or rather a lesson in how not to dress at any time.  
'Welcome to our little course in style and fashion, the colourful woman carried on cheerfully as soon as she had reached the front of the room. 'My name is Lady Marjorie Metcalf and I am to be your tutor for tonight. I am also the owner of Westerham Bridal Parlour, but don't let that deter you, I will not talk you into dresses that won't look good on you - but I might try with those that do.'  
Everybody chuckled. Okay, considering that the dresses were all more or less white, nothing much could go wrong, right?  
It could, apparently, but not in the way Elizabeth had expected. Lady Marjorie had apparently just wanted to continue when the mother-bride came in, her two bickering daughters in tow. And as it happened, the only vacant seats were right next to herself. Oh, joy!  
Well, she had wondered how the parents would handle the kids while they themselves attended classes. Now she had the answer. They weren't, everyone else had to put up with the little monsters.

The boy was presumably with his dad and she could literally see how the poor sod teaching the rhetoric class was made to have him speak in full sentences within the course of an evening.  
The female half of the family had barely sat down, when the first girl was out of her seat again, rummaging through the rows of dresses pulling the one or other out, some slipping off the hangers and ending up on the floor.

Though Elizabeth had little idea about how expensive they were, one thing she did know was, that wedding-dresses were not cheap.  
'I want to try this one!' she announced, when she had found a particularly sparkly one.  
'No, you won't. I will!' her sister, aka pink-princess, announced to a speechless audience, and considering they were all women, that had to say something.  
'Actually, this course is for the brides, sweeties,' her Ladyship twittered with a strained smile, while the mother just looked on indulgently.  
'But I WANT!' both sisters for once united, cried.  
Shoot, if they were any louder or shriller for that matter, they surely would burst the windowpanes.  
'Now, let us see how far we get and then you can try a dress on at the end of the evening,' the lady in the makeshift parrot-costume tried to soothe them.  
'No, NOW!'  
'Yes, we want to put them on NOW. This, and that one there and the one over there.'  
'Pam, Tiffany, you should say "please",' their mother _reprimanded_ them.  
Shit, even _her_ mother would have said something if any of her sisters, including herself, obviously, had behaved like that and be it for the simple fact that she'd feared he'd have to pay for all the damage. Heck, even Lydia would have had an earful, and she had gotten away with the worst behaviour of them all.  
'Okay. - PLEASE!'  
'As I have said, later. We go one after the other, and since you came in last, it is only fair that you go last, isn't it?' Lady Marjorie still managed to smile somehow, but her face grew ever so much tenser.  
'But _we_ are children!'  
Perhaps... - Yes, that might work.  
'Lady Marjorie, if I may make a suggestion? Perhaps, if they could try on the dresses now, and after them their mother...'  
'Do you want to get rid of us, Miss? You and your child-hating fiancé are well matched it seems,' the mother snapped.  
Okay, obviously it wouldn't...  
'I think at this point everybody wants to get rid of you and your brats,' a young woman sitting in the front row remarked icily and had several heads nodding including that of their instructor.  
'You know I paid for this just as everybody else did! And they are just children, they don't know what's right or wrong yet.'  
'Yes, that is, why someone should _teach_ them what is proper, for fuck's sake,' the same young lady carried on, her voice growing gradually louder.  
'Typical!' the mother shouted as if everybody around her was deaf. 'This is so typical. Are children not to have any confidence at all? I think it is a good thing that they can put their foot down and say what they want.'  
Well, last time Elizabeth checked, speaking one's mind was one thing, terrorising others and destroying their property a different one altogether.

At any rate, the poor berated children had by now undressed and stepping onto white lace here and ivory silk there, had wriggled into one of the gowns each, bursting a couple of buttons in the process, for why should one open them? Completely unnecessary. Foolish to put buttons on clothing anyway.  
'Now, this is enough!' Lady Metcalf boomed, all friendliness gone at last. 'Out!'  
'You can't make us leave. We are paying customers.'  
'Great, then you can pay for the damage your little darlings have done.'  
'But they are just children...'  
'Yes, and you are their mother, sitting right there doing nothing. So stop whining and take responsibility,' the same young woman who had interfered before replied before Lady Marjorie had found her voice again.  
Shit, she looked as if she would have a heart attack at any moment. Okay, no, not quite but she was definitely hyperventilating. Not so good either. Everyone stared at the rapidly breathing woman in her ridiculous attire, but no-one moved.  
Shit, shit, shit!  
'You,' Elizabeth pointed at the young woman who had argued with the mother, 'dial 999 and get an ambulance.'  
'Oh? - Yes, sure. Of course...'  
So, what next? Right, her first-aid course had been a while ago, but she did remember the basics. Just where to get a paper bag in an emergency like this, was a question she would ask the paramedics next time she took a course. Okay, plastic should do as well, and fortunately, some of the dresses were still wrapped.  
Pressing the make-shift bag to Marjorie Metcalf's mouth she quickly stabilised and as soon as she had done so, the mother of the two little harridans' began anew: 'Now you have traumatised my poor little babies with these unnecessary theatrics!'  
And as if on cue both girls started crying as if their favourite Teddy had been set on fire.  
'Then perhaps you should take them away from this horrific scene and comfort them...' Elizabeth snapped.  
Seriously, one more word from that twit and she would lose it.  
As all eyes were on her, the mother complied, muttering something about complaining, wanting her money back and suing the venue.

The door fell shut behind her, and everybody started to cheer.  
'I fear I will not be of much use now...' Lady Marjorie gasped, still looking awfully pale. 'So I suggest you have a look around while I sit here and answer any questions you might have. Dear me, I could really use a cuppa.'  
'What are we supposed to do with these gowns?" a middle-aged bride with a face and figure which reminded her slightly of Mary, asked, pointing at the destruction on the floor.  
'Put them on the table over there. I will see what can be done later, and either charge that woman for the dry-cleaners or the dresses.'  
Applause followed, and someone went in search of some tea.  
'Damn, and I was so well prepared. I even put on the most ridiculous clothes my wardrobe had to offer, just to make a point that it was all a matter of the right choice. - Or the wrong one, in my case.'  
This now had everybody laugh again.  
'Thank you, deary,' she smiled at Elizabeth. 'You have your wits together. This could have ended badly, you know? Your groom is a very lucky man. I am sure he loves you very much. - And such a pretty face, especially with those eyes of yours and a lovely figure to top it all!'  
She knitted her brows in silent contemplation before carrying on with a twinkle in her eyes: 'You know what? I'll give you a hundred-percent discount. As a thank you for preventing worse. - No, I brook no opposition. Go ahead.'  
'But...'  
'Oh, come now, you deserve it!' the young woman who had argued alongside her nudged her towards the rows of dresses. 'I wouldn't have had the foggiest what to do. You saved the day, luv.'  
Elizabeth glanced around her and for once dearly hoped to see opposing faces, but apparently, the others seemed to be of the same opinion. Yes, they had basically fought a war together, but come on, no female jealousy anywhere? Not even a teensy weensy bit? Nothing she could use as an excuse? Nope, nada. Shit!  
Bloody hell, here she was, the only person who wsn't actually getting married, and she was the one who could choose a wedding dress for fuck all. Oh, the irony!  
Yes, she could say so, but that somehow felt like the wrong thing to do right now. Call it peer-pressure, baby. And perhaps in ten years from now, she would have found a man who was willing to marry her. Wedding dresses did not have a use-by date as far as she was aware, did they?  
Oops, there were the folks with the ambulance at last. She might feel fairly alright again already, but it certainly was certainly better for Lady Marjorie to have someone professional check her up, just to make sure.

Five minutes later, they had gone again, leaving her Ladyship, who had pointedly refused to go to the hospital, sitting in a chair with an IV in her arm, while the one or other woman had begun to try on gowns with all the due respect for the dresses, naturally. Some looked really nice, while others had a knack to squeeze themselves into styles that looked rather awkward on them. It was those women Lady Metcalf beckoned towards her and whom she gave friendly advice, Elizabeth noticed. She really was a dear. And good at what she was doing. Had it not been for those girls, the whole thing could have been an absolute success.

Anyway, what was she to choose? Simple, and cheap obviously. Cheap in price not in looks. Not an easy feat.  
Time relentlessly ticked on, and all she could see was white. One woman after the other slipped out of the room, some placing orders right there and then, while others were still thinking things over and three hours later, she had still not found a dress that she could choose in good conscience.  
'May I show you this one?' Lady Marjorie, who had long gotten rid of the needle in her arm asked, startling Elizabeth. 'I think it would suit you just fine.'  
It was lovely, but perhaps it was time to own up.  
'Madam, I have to confess, that I am not actually getting married. I am merely here to accompany a friend for the dancing lessons tomorrow and...'  
'Oh, shush. It's timeless enough for you to wear in a couple of years from now and if you don't want to do so, then sell it! I have a weak heart, I easily could have died. You, deary, saved my life.'  
'That may be, but I never expected to be paid for my help. It should be a matter of course that one helps in such cases, shouldn't it?'  
'Yes, and if one is in a position to show gratitude, that also should be. Now, come, try it on.'  
'You are like my older sister...'  
Jane! Perhaps Jane could wear it when she got married to Bingley.  
'She must be a lovely person then,' the lady giggled. 'Are you sure that this young man you are accompanying is not interested in you in other ways than just friendship? I have to say I have some trouble believing this.'  
'Yes, pretty sure. He actually made it quite clear.'  
'Then I fear I have to consider him an idiot.'  
'He is not. I am just not his type, I presume.'  
'Ah, but one of you is in love, I see... - Perhaps all will turn out well. I do believe in romance, you know? Happened to me. I was nothing but a simple shop girl, and then, one day my now husband of more than thirty years came in and we looked at each other and there was this certain something. Oh, don't get me wrong, I did not dare think he would marry me, considering that he was a baron, and back then that was still something. But he returned the next day with a single red rose and the day after and... - Ah well, he is such a dear! Believe it or not, but ever since that first day, I have gotten a red rose from him every single day.'  
'That does sound almost like something from a novel.'  
'It most certainly does, but my maiden name is Miller, so believe me, not much glamour there. Wait, I help you button up.'

The dress did look beautiful and it fit her just right, though it was perhaps a bit long. Nothing that could not be changed quickly and easily, especially since the ivory coloured skirt was completely unadorned. The top was just as plain, apart from the subtle embroidery and beadwork on the neckline and the lower part of the long sleeves. It most certainly was timeless in its simplicity, but not boring either. It was... - plain perfect.  
'And?'  
'It's lovely.'  
'Is this how you have imagined you'd look like as a bride?'  
'No.'  
'No?' Lady Metcalf asked, raising an inquisitive eyebrow.  
'No, because I have never thought about it. But even had I done so, I think that this looks better than anything I could have come up with.'  
'Good. Then it is yours.'

Okay, surreal didn't quite sum it up. Not tonight and not the last couple of weeks. First her mother and the tons of baby stuff she had bought for a non-existent baby and now a wedding gown when there was no wedding. In a sense it was a stark reminder that not many things happened in her life at present. How it still could be so crazy was a mystery, thinking about it.  
When she climbed up the stairs to her room - no, actually Will's and her room, Elizabeth could not resist pinching herself. Nope, she was awake, and there really was a wedding dress hanging over her arm, though it was now safely wrapped in a garment bag. By the way, why was it that people seemed intent on putting her into dresses? Okay, that one had to wait until later.  
The light was on, she could see the small strip of yellow from underneath the door. Darcy was already back. Shit, how was she supposed to hide the dress away now without him getting the wrong idea? Yes, she was fully aware they were just friends, it was not a bloody hint, but argh...  
Well, she could always claim that she had taken the dress of one of the other women up with her so their soon to be hubby wouldn't get to see it. Or she could claim that they also had bride's maids dresses...

Yes, either might work, unless she once again erred as she had with the two bratty hyenas and their mum and all hell would break loose. By the way, it was now official, this weekend had been a very bad idea.  
Well, one thing was clear, she could not stay outside their door forever and sleep on the floor lest someone might stumble over her. Right, act normal and just walk inside. Deep breath, and... - WTF? 


	38. Chapter 38 - The key-question

_Chapter 38:_

 _The key-question_

Darcy was fast asleep, snoring slightly while he lay sprawled all over their bed, stark naked held down by a pair of handcuffs that were firmly attached to the headboard by the looks of it.

It didn't look very comfortable, so how the heck could this man look so bloody damn relaxed? But he did, even wearing a smile on his face. Nothing to freak out about, right? Nothing unusual. Totally normal. Sure, happens every day. Who didn't sleep like this?  
Okay, totally naked he actually wasn't. Someone had been courteous enough to cover his private parts with a cushion. Not very original, really. Come one! No Sherlock Holmes needed to figure out where the keys were to be located. Ha-ha!

And that film hadn't been even all that good. Now it had lost all attraction. It had fuck all to do with the original character, to begin with, though admittedly, she had found that particular scene immensely funny. Now faced with it in real life, she suddenly understood why the chambermaid had been running away screaming. But screaming hysterically was not for her. Besides, at the moment she was pretty much speechless.  
Seemed as if the rhetoric lesson had kind of turned into a practising session for stag-night. There was no way this would have happened if Will had been sober, surely. And anyway, who would do such a thing? Ah well, never mind. Darcy slept peacefully enough, they could just as well sort out the mess in the morning and with a clear head.  
After all, it had been a long day and so would tomorrow be, so, time for bed. How difficult could it be to pry the blanket out from underneath him and bunk on the sofa?

A Chippendale two-seater might not be very convenient for sleeping on, but still better than the floor. And at least with Will passed out, she had a chance to hide the dress from him. So, open wardrobe, shove the thing in there, conveniently forget it on the way home. - Sorted!  
All Elizabeth had to do was to get into her pyjama's, brush her teeth, comb through her hair and close her eyes. Eh, speaking of pyjamas, where the heck were they? She was sure she had put them on the bed when she had searched through her bag for something to wear earlier that evening. And speaking of her bag, where the fuck was it?  
Not where she had left it on the floor by the window, not in the wardrobe, not in the chest of drawers, not in the bathroom. Underneath the bed it wasn't either, and not tucked away behind the screen. It was gone. Darcy's, too.  
'You've got to be kidding me!'  
Oops, she had not meant to say that aloud.

Darcy stirred in his sleep trying to turn around, struggled slightly before muttering something under his breath. Yeah well, forget it mate. Eventually, he cracked his eyes open, looking straight at her, licking his lips. Good God, pull yourself together, girl!  
'Care to tell me what happened?' Elizabeth asked if only to say something.  
'This... - this is not what it looks like... - I...' he stopped, shaking his head slightly as he seemingly struggled for the right words.  
'And what is it supposed to look like?'  
Seriously, this took the cake. Wasn't this exactly what one needed after a long and increasingly shitty day? Sure. Someone seemed to think so. Awkward 101 - lesson learned. And why did Will look so bloody sexy, even when his hair was this dishevelled, his eyes unfocused and heavy-lidded _and_ he was strapped to a bed?  
'No idea, actually. But it can't look good, I guess,' he, at last, continued, his face gradually colouring.  
Okay, he slowly but surely seemed to sober up. But was that good or bad? Ah, never mind!  
'Hm, it actually doesn't look all that bad either,' she grinned.  
What were friends for but to make the best out of every fucked up situation, hey? Best way to go was to crack a joke or two. Hopefully...  
'Do you want to tell me that you like the sight of me handcuffed to the bed like this?' he caught his breath, the eyes widening slightly.  
Yes, of course. The sight was mouth watering. And not only that. Argh... - Just when she had gotten over the fact that he didn't like her that way, she had to have a full sight of his glorious body. So not fair!  
'I was merely joking.'  
Did she imagine it, or did his face fall ever so slightly?  
'Oh, okay. Please tell me the keys are on the bedside table...'  
'Nope.'  
'I'm going to kill him. I am so going to kill him, I swear! Have you looked in other places yet?'  
'No. I was just trying to locate my bag. No keys as far as I could see, but I might have overlooked them. By the way, your bag is gone as well, and so are all or clothes. I'll have another look around, but I think I have an inkling where the keys are.'  
'Swell! Yes, I have an idea, too,' he sighed, while Elizabeth started searching the room.

Right, they were not on the windowsill, not on the chest of drawers, nor inside it, not in the bathroom, nor were they on the small side table by the window or the drawer of the bedside table, which only held a small paper bag with the words "Hope that's enough for tonight. - Fitz" written on it. She looked into the bag, only to find a handful of condoms and another note telling them that they would find their bags in front of their door early in the morning. No keys. Fuck! Double fuck, actually.  
'I am afraid that if there are any keys in the room, there is only one place left...,' she, at last, remarked as off-handedly as she could manage.  
By the way, what if they were not in the room at all? She had not thought about that possibility, and apparently neither had Darcy. The poor man looked mortified when she suggested as much. Okay, she knew that feeling. Bathroom, drawing pin... - Shit, the mirror! She had completely forgotten about the mirror behind herself when she'd bent forward. No, no, no... - What must he think of her? Right, no time for that now. And he'd closed his eyes by then, right? Phew!  
'Ready?' she inquired, her face flushed, while she reached for the cushion.  
Darcy only nodded, his eyes pressed firmly shut and his lips together in a thin line. Perhaps she should close her eyes as well. It would be courteous. On second thought, nope, that was a stupid idea. After all, she needed to find the bloody keys and fumbling around aimlessly was perhaps not such a good idea.  
So, now or never. One, two, three... - With a swift movement, she pulled the cushion aside and placed it on the bed next to herself from where it fell to the floor with a soft thud. What was it stuffed with? Rice or something? Not that she cared all that much right now.  
Ah, there the little bugger was! And so was the key.  
'Have you got it?' she heard Will press out from between his teeth.  
'Yes, I've got it.'  
'Then could you please release me?'  
'Yes, of course. I just need to pick them up.'  
A sharp hiss escaped his lips, but he nodded once again.

Shit, it was trickier than she had thought to get at the key without touching his... - Well, you know what.

And it was even trickier not to stare at his... - well, the same fucking thing.

Oh, and perhaps she should hurry up. He looked as if he needed to wee. Urgently at that. Not exactly a morning glory, rather a shortly past midnight one, but yeah, she got the message. No time to waste, just grab it and be done with it. The key, that was.  
'Right, I got it. I'll untie you now, okay?'  
'Please,' Darcy whispered in a strained voice.  
Yes, just a moment longer and off to the loo... She got it, a full bladder could be very uncomfortable.  
Scrambling up and leaning over to unlock the handcuffs she had to fumble quite a bit. Shoot, even they had been awkwardly placed.  
'Sorry, Will, but I will have to lean over to get at the lock.'  
Argh... - Damn, she really couldn't bend her wrists that way. How the heck had they been placed in the first place? Okay, then it had been irrelevant where the lock was, they only needed to click shut and done. Yet, it felt a little as if it had been done on purpose.  
'Lizzy, please...'  
'Yes, I try and do my best. You'll be free to go to the toilet in a moment.'  
'Toilet?'  
'Hold still, Will. I know this is uncomfortable, but I can't help it. The whole thing is basically backwards. I can't get it in the hole. - The key. I meant the key. And the keyhole.'  
Why did everything sound like a double entendre all of a sudden? Or was that just her dirty mind playing tricks?  
'I know what you meant,' Will sighed, before gasping: 'Shit, why do you have to look so incredibly beautiful?'  
What?! Okay, never mind. She needed to get a move on.

Had this man any idea what being so close to him did to her? No, of course not. Ah, at last! Well, at least one of the things was off. And no sooner was his arm free, than it was around her, pulling her down and into his chest. It was the alcohol, surely. Just that he appeared to be completely sober now.  
'You, woman, drive me insane!'  
She was driving _him_ insane? It was clearly the other way around, Mr!  
'I beg to differ, but you drive me insane, Will. And now hold still, I am almost there.'  
Ha, released! Oops, trapped...

Darcy's other arm had followed suit holding her tightly.  
'Please tell me to stop. I have no willpower left in me to do so of my own accord,' he muttered into the crook of her neck, before nuzzling it gently, pulling her ever so much closer. 'Not after this day at any rate, and it has been pretty weak, to begin with. - Ever since I first saw you, actually.'  
Wait, what?  
'I missed you so very much these past weeks, Lizzy, I could not stop thinking about you. Your smile, your wit, everything. And damn, how can you be so very beautiful and yet seemingly so little aware of it?'  
His lips had moved down a notch, trailing her neckline.  
'You think I'm beautiful?'  
He looked up startled: 'Yes, of course. Who could not? And not just that, you are caring, intelligent, have a great sense of humour, and it is a joy talking to you. You always make my day so much brighter. I've never met anyone like you. - Hey, what's wrong?'  
'That is just the nicest thing anybody has ever said to me,' Elizabeth sobbed.  
Bloody hell, what was wrong with her? He had just paid her the nicest compliment she'd ever received and she started crying. Idiot!  
'Shhhh...'  
Kissing her tears away, for a while he only held her, gently caressing her back before finally claiming her mouth with renewed passion.

'Perhaps I should thank my cousin after all,' Darcy mused sleepily, as the both snuggled together a good two and a half hours later.  
'Hm, or we could pretend we are thoroughly upset with him.'  
'He would certainly deserve it. Okay, we first roast him a little and then thank him. So, how did your style consultation go?'  
'Style consultation? Ah, yes, I forgot that that is what it was supposed to be. Well, first we fought three dragons until they took flight, then we saved a damsel in distress, and after that, we picked out wedding gowns. Nothing out of the ordinary, really. And you?'  
'Dragons? I presume that the two girls from dinner joined you... - Well, I went to kindergarten and learned how not to make a speech. - By the way, your cousin is here.'  
'Penny?'  
'I didn't know you had any other cousins.'  
'I have. Three of them, actually. But they are only little. The oldest is four, the youngest six months.'  
'I dare say they would have done a better job teaching rhetoric lessons.'  
'Oh, no! Don't tell me he actually _taught_ the class.'  
The thought was preposterous. Silence erupted, minutes ticked by and still no reply from Darcy. Odd.  
'Will? Are you asleep?'  
Right, as if anybody would ever answer in the affirmative...  
'Well, you told me _not_ to tell you that your cousin taught us. I merely complied.'  
She could literally hear the laughter in his voice. But bugger me, he couldn't be serious, right?  
'He did?'  
'Yep. Why do you think the lot of us got pissdrunk?'  
'Okay, good point,' she yawned. 'Your class must have been ultimately worse than mine, at last mine had a happy ending.'  
'Well, mine, too, as a matter of fact. Completely sober I would never have dared to make the first move. And now I have you in my arms and all is well.'  
It was late, or early, depending on the point of view - and breakfast was at eight. What an ungodly hour when one had three rounds of blissful, unrestricted, unpro...

Uh-oh! Oh, fuck!


	39. Chapter 39 - Fucking stupid

_Chapter 39:_

 _Fucking stupid_

Sleepily Darcy snuggled up to Elizabeth feeling thoroughly content. Ah, life was beautiful and he was a lucky man indeed, holding the woman he loved right there in his arms. - That was, until the moment he felt her gasp and tense, then sit up slightly and turn away from him and almost out of his reach. So not good! Or perhaps she just didn't like sleeping all cuddled up. That might be it. But then the first sob reached his ears and he more felt than saw her hugging herself. Shit! She could not have regrets already, could she? She seemed to have enjoyed it, too. Yes, okay, he was a bit out of practice, but surely not all that much.  
'Lizzy, hey, what's the matter?' he asked groggily, reaching out his hand to touch the small of her back in what he hoped was a comforting manner.  
At least she didn't shy away, that was something. But something was decidedly wrong.  
'We are fucking stupid, Will. Literally. That is the matter. We completely lost our heads just now,' was her puzzling answer, that held a tad of panic.  
The latter statement was indisputable, they had lost their heads, but hey, why not? But what did she mean by they were fucking stupid?

His brain was on sleeping mode already, only slowly waking up again and somehow her words didn't seem to make much sense. It had been a heck of a long day, and it had ended in the most perfect way it possibly could have, as far as he was concerned. They had made mad passionate love at first, screwing each other silly with sheer need. This had been followed by more tender sex, yet no less daring as they got to know each other's bodies better. And their third round had ended up being a close encounter between half-consciousness and sleep just enjoying the closeness of one another until both had come so close that passion had prevailed once again for a short moment and they had come together, an achievement he was particularly proud of. Truthfully, he had always thought it to be a myth written in silly romance novels, and then Lizzy had come along, literally. Ha!  
Right, now was perhaps not the right moment to ponder on these things, and even less to pat one's own shoulder.  
After a hearty yawn Darcy, at last, managed to form a full sentence: 'I fear I can't quite follow your train of thought, my love. Please tell me what's wrong.'  
'What is wrong? Will, we didn't use the bloody condoms, that is what's wrong.'  
'Condoms?'  
Okay, Fitz had stuffed some into his pocket earlier after dinner, but his clothes were gone and so were the condoms, surely.  
'The ones that were left in the drawer of your bedside table.'  
'Oops...'  
He should have known. Of course, Fitz had rightly assumed that before looking underneath the cushion, Lizzy would search the room and stumble across them. Well, shit happened. But truth be told, Elizabeth didn't seem the type sleeping around, and neither was he, so what were the chances of STDs? Pretty slim to non-existent.  
'Yes, oops!' she almost screeched by now. 'You didn't pull out either. - Not that it is a safe method in any shape or form...'  
Oh, bugger... - that was what she was on about. Now, that was a venereal disease she might very well have contracted tonight by the sound of it.  
'You are not on the pill.'  
It was not a question, and most certainly not an accusation, it was nothing but a statement, but, oh goodness!

At least now he got why she sounded so panicky. It did take some moments before he himself could make use of his vocal chords again.  
'Lizzy, I didn't know about the condoms...'  
'And now it is all my fault?!' she interrupted him, flaring up even more.  
'No, of course not! I didn't say that.'  
He tried to pull her into his arms, but Elizabeth only wriggled further away from him.  
'But you thought it!'  
'No, I didn't. I merely stated a fact.'  
'Yes, and since I knew about them and you didn't, it is my fault for not saying anything.'  
'Nonsense, Lizzy! If anything, it's both our fault, though I refuse to see it as one. - And...'  
'Well, for you it is easy to stay so calm. If the shit hits the fan, you can just walk away.'  
Okay, enough was enough! Calm was all nice and well, but it didn't help when dealing with a person in near hysterics.  
Reaching for shoulders he turned her around, even though the lights were still off and he started with a much firmer voice: 'Will you stop wilfully misunderstanding me? - _And_ let me finish my sentences?! _Thank_ you! We are both rational people...'  
'Rational? Yeah, right!'  
'Yes, rational. And intelligent, too, even though we can do stupid things on occasion, just as every other person on this planet.'  
'There you are bloody damn right.'  
'Lizzy, I get why you are panicking. But first of all, I am not a man to just walk away, I actually thought I made that abundantly clear, as well as what I feel for you. And secondly, there are ways to prevent pregnancy even now. We will have to act quickly, meaning within the next couple of hours, but for now, I suggest we sleep a little, and sneak out early and go over to Westerham, to get you a morning-after-pill. That is, if that's what you want, if not, that's fine with me, too. Anyway, there is a surgery there that is open 24/7 after they closed the small hospital down.'  
Finally she relaxed and leaned back in bed, and Elizabeth didn't resist as he pulled her closer again until she rested in his arms once more.  
'Will?'  
'Hm?'  
'Thank you. I really was panicking. I didn't even consider that there are still things that can be done. However, I hope that I fare better with the morning-after-pill and won't throw it up again. The reason I'm not on the pill is because I can't stomach it. It is worth a try, though.'  
Right... - Ah well, never mind. It was not as if her mother hadn't everything prepared for a grandchild ten times over already anyway. And thinking about it, Pemberley's nursery only needed a little dusting and perhaps a lick of fresh paint and...  
'But what if I _do_ throw it up again?'  
… and the cradle that had been in his family for aeons was a lovely one. Shame it had stood unused for so long now. There even was all the old linen to go with it, lace inserts and all. And last but not least there was the old Victorian pram his mother had restored to all its former glory when he had been on the way...  
'Lizzy, we will see. There is little point in worrying about what might or might not happen. Let us sleep. - And Lizzy?'  
'Hm?'  
'I love you!'  
'I love you, too, Will.'

If Darcy had thought that his natural alarm clock was working properly after such a night, he had been wrong. And though he knew that Lizzy was also an early riser, she didn't stir either. It was only when someone knocked frantically on their door that he managed to crack an eye open, while Elizabeth only mumbled something along the line of 'just five more minutes' and then turned around again.  
'Darcy, for _fuck's sake_ , get up- Breakfast is almost over,' Fitz shouted, emphasising his statement with yet another tirade of bangs on the poor innocent door that had done little to deserve such treatment. 'I've got your bags with me. You better open up now, before the first people return to their rooms and catch a glimpse of you in all your glory.'  
Okay, that was some inducement. He had no wish to flash in front of anyone save the lovely woman sleeping soundly in the bed next to him. Wrapping a towel around his hips, he trudged over to open and reclaim what was theirs anyway.  
'So, what do you say to my cunning plan?' Fitz grinned broadly at him. 'Did it work?'  
'Shut up, Baldrick!' Darcy only grumbled in return and taking the bags without further ado he all but shut the door in his cousin's face.  
Today, it appeared, he was not a morning person.  
Pulling aside the curtains Darcy was greeted by a glum rainy day and uncomfortable gusts of wind whirling the first fallen leaves across the ground. Hurray, autumn was here. He actually liked autumn if only the weather would not be so uncomfortable most of the time. In Kent, it was mainly alright, aside from the occasional rainy day but in Derbyshire, this time of year was often accompanied by strong gales sweeping through the steep valleys and a never ceasing drizzly.

Then again, at last everything quieted down after the busy madness that was late summer, and eventually towards winter the work on the farm boiled down to nothing more than taking care of the animals and maintaining the machines.

Yes, there was still the hotel and the holiday homes, but the latter were closed down until April come November and the hotel was usually very quiet as well apart from a few weeks around Christmas. Time for the family at last. - Well, talking about family...  
'Lizzy, it's time to get up,' Darcy smiled as he watched her slowly regain consciousness.  
'What time is it?'  
'Almost half past eight. Breakfast is almost over and lessons start in about half an hour. If we want to make our escape, we better hurry and eat on the way before my aunt manages to track us down. I am actually surprised she hasn't come looking for us already.'  
'Hm, I presume climbing out of the window isn't an option? Just in case?'  
'Only recently I tried to use a downpipe as substitute stairs. Didn't work all that well. - The rosebush underneath wasn't very thrilled either.'  
'Right... - I have to admit, that comment raises a couple of questions, but you can tell me all about it in the car.'  
'Sure, if only to underline my statement from last night that even fairly intelligent people are prone to do the odd idiotic thing.'  
It perhaps was not such a wise idea to take their shower together to save time, but while Elizabeth was already drying herself off, Darcy turned the water to icy cold and five minutes later they sneaked down the stairs and out of the house through one of the side entrances. And astonishingly enough, all went well.

Until they reached the car park that was.  
'Huhu, Lizzy! What are you doing here? - Oh, are you with Mr Darcy?'  
'Hello, William. How are you?'  
Of course, they had to run into Penny. Sod's law. And there he had thought that after the débâcle that man had called a lesson, Mr Collins would have left Rosings in shame straight away never to return. Obviously, he had been wrong there. That man was like a living tumbler-toy. Nothing could keep him down, at least not for long. When "Tubthumping" was written he must have been the very person Chumbawamba had in mind.  
'Oh, I'm fine. I taught last night's rhetoric class, you know? Well, Mr Darcy has presumably told you all about it. I have to say, I was surprised how well it went. So, when are you getting married? I am surprised I haven't heard of it yet. Or is it still a secret?'  
There was a slightly accusatory undertone as if he wanted to say: "How can you not invite your favourite cousin?"  
Slowly but surely the rain increased, leading every sensible person to the conclusion that now was not the time for a small-talk in the middle of a car park. It was just that even with stretching the truth, it would still be rather preposterous to call Mr Collins such.  
'Well, we are not getting married, William. We are just here for the dance course, truth be told,' Elizabeth answered with a forced smile.  
'Oh, really? Of course. Well, then you better hurry for it starts in about fifteen minutes. I take it, you've forgotten something in the car. Happens to me all of the time. Only yesterday, when I packed for Rosings, I found a yoghurt in the boot that had gone out of date twelve weeks ago. No idea where it came from, but it was stuck between the warning triangle and the jack somehow. Odd. By the way, I have to say, Mr Darcy, your aunt's seminars are always such a thought through thing, they are bound to be a success!' Mr Collins prattled on and on, while Elizabeth looked increasingly uncomfortable and Darcy thought desperately of anything that he had in his car that they might possibly need so they could make their escape.

There was his toolbox, the shovel he always had in there, his wellies, the work gloves, the mac, a camping stool, a roll of barbed wire...  
'And I was so flattered when her Ladyship asked me to actually _teach_ here. Mr Henderson, you see, who was supposed to supervise that class, fell ill on short notice and I was more than happy to fill in. Such a compliment, from your noble aunt, Mr Darcy! I am still speechless for all the honour I thus received.'  
Yeah, right.  
… a blanket, some yards of rope, half a bucket of oats, a torch – in short, all the stuff he frequently needed when on his land. Hm, thinking about it, he could make it look like a suicide.  
'But you see, with me as such a successful writer, it was quite fitting and so I came. I mean, who could not help out a lady such as the great Lady Catherine? Left everything as it was, packed and was off. Just like that. Well, I am a man of decision, when it comes to it. And after all, it was only for one night. So, what do you need then? The weather is getting uncomfortable, isn't it? Forgotten your shoes? I went to Tesco's with my slippers on the other day, can you believe it?'  
Shoes... - That was it!  
'Yes, I have. At home, stupidly enough. So we just quickly go into Hunsford and get me some,' Darcy smiled sweetly.  
Penny looked down in bewilderment.  
'Oh, but I am sure the ones you are wearing will do just fine. That's what I always dance in. You might recall the pair I wore at the harvest ball. Very comfy and perfectly suitable for dancing.'  
Sure, who wouldn't remember who wore what kind of shoes? He wasn't even sure which pair he himself had worn that night, only that it had been black.  
'Yes, but you see, mine are a wee bit too big and... - we'll be quick. But if we don't want to be all that late, we should really hurry now.'  
Opening the car and pushing a bewildered looking Elizabeth in, Darcy sped off.  
'I should thank Caroline Bingley. That woman taught me to make an escape, I tell you,' Darcy sighed, handing Elizabeth a kitchen towel from the roll he always had handy to wipe his hands with, so she could wipe the rain off her face.  
'Cheers. - Looks like it. But you do know that now you will actually have to buy a pair of shoes, right?'  
'Why? I don't need one, as you well know.'  
'Yes, but knowing my cousin, he will feel obliged to tell Lady Catherine that in all probability we'll be late.'  
Okay, good point. And besides, there was little doubt that they would be late. Alone the drive to Westerham was ten to fifteen minutes, then there was the wait... 


	40. Chapter 40 - The 6th of January

_Chapter 40:_

 _The 6th of January_

'Oh dear, I am in trouble now!' Elizabeth chuckled as they drove towards Hunsford and then past the village. 'My father knows I am here, and Jane, obviously, but my mother didn't and I would have preferred for it to stay that way a while longer, lest she starts planning our wedding. - Especially considering that it is a wedding crash-course we're attending. I am pretty certain she is already looking for venues for Jane and Charles.'  
'I have to admit, no stretch of the imagination is needed there considering the little shopping-spree she did on a hunch just the other week. And yet, would it be so very bad?'  
'Well, Charles and Jane do seem to suit each other perfectly. I am quite sure they will not need long to at least move in together and then, why not also marry? They are both so amiable and alike that they can just as well get done with it,' she grinned, leaning back in her seat.  
She was only wearing a pair of grey trousers and a white shirt today, no makeup, her hair merely tied back with a clip and yet if anything, she looked even more lovely than last night in her dress. The understated clothes suited her. And it suited him that though her attire still hugged her figure here and there, it didn't reveal all that much and only he knew what lay beneath it, namely the most lovely woman he had ever beheld.  
'I was actually referring to us, Lizzy,' he teased, grinning at her.  
'Us? Well, we only just got together, Will.'  
'Yes, and? You've met me when I was in a very bad mood, and yet, you didn't run, nor were you overly offended, which is something I will be forever grateful for. Besides, we can talk for hours without noticing how time flies by. We even feel comfortable, when we say nothing at all. We have a lot of similar interests and also a few that we don't share to make things more interesting. We have the same ethics, value family, share a similar humour. So why not?'  
'Are you proposing?' she asked archly, her eyes gleaming half with amusement and half with an earnest desire to know his answer.  
'Yes. - And I fear I am doing a bad job of it. I couldn't be any less romantic, could I?'  
The words had stumbled out of his mouth before he could check them, but it didn't make them any less true. He did want to marry her. And also that he had presumably made the least romantic proposal in the history of mankind.  
'I actually think you are doing a pretty good job, Will. Romance is what one makes of it. Candlelight-dinners are all nice and well, but mucking out a pigsty together can be just as romantic depending on the situation,' she replied laughingly.  
'Hm, sounds like a date then,' now he had to laugh also.  
As crazy as the situation was at present it would be even more so if he let her go again. To think that he would have to make do with the odd telephone call or text message over the next couple of weeks was a desolate enough prospect already. Especially after he'd had a taste of her in his arms, underneath, atop, beside... Well, perhaps it was better to concentrate on the road.  
'Yes,' she grinned.  
'Was that the answer to my first or my second question?'  
She didn't answer immediately, biting her lip. The suspense was hardly bearable, now that he had popped the question. Okay, admittedly it had started out as nothing but banter, and how it had ended up being a marriage proposal he still wasn't quite sure, but what Darcy was sure of was that he had done the right thing and if she would only say...  
'Both,' Elizabeth replied after a few instances at first puzzling him before it dawned on him, that this meant yes to both questions.  
She would marry him. Yes, yes, yes!  
He would have stopped right there and then just to kiss her, were it not for the bloody wanker right behind them who seemed to be in a fucking hurry. How very inconsiderate! If he hit the break now, he most certainly would cause an accident. Okay, there was the roundabout into Westerham and thank goodness, the other driver turned into another road down towards an industrial estate by the looks of it. Darcy, on the other hand, drove a little further and then stopped in front of a baker's shop in the busy high street that he knew also served sandwiches and tea. It also was right next to a shoe-shop. How practical.  
If Elizabeth was surprised by him stopping there, she didn't say anything.

Helping her out of the car, there was one very important thing he had to do and that was kiss her. Kiss his fiancée, for the first time.  
'You do know you made me the happiest of men just now, don't you?' he whispered into her ear.  
'Are you sure? I can be a handful. And at any rate, I dare doubt you are half as happy as I am. I thought I would get scared as soon as the words left my mouth, but...'  
'But?'  
'I am perfectly content, actually.'  
'Good. And now some breakfast, I would say. We've had an exhausting night. Not that I mind in the least. As a matter of fact, I am up for a repetition, but admittedly at the moment, I am quite ravenous. And then we'll see how to proceed, okay?'  
In answer, she gave him another kiss and hand in hand they marched into the small shop.

They had almost crossed the room and approached the old-fashioned counter to order their food when...  
'Should you not be at the dancing classes, Fitzwilliam?'  
Okay, he knew that voice. What was it with them running into people at the most inconvenient of times? And sure enough, turning around he saw that there sat his aunt, back to the window, opposite her old friend Lady Metcalf, the good old dear. The latter smiling broadly and knowingly. Right, there the cat was out of the bag, but fortunately she wasn't a gossip.  
'Aunt Cathy? - Good morning Lady Marjorie, how are you?'  
'Quite well, my boy. Thanks to the lovely lady by your side. She saved my life, you know?'  
Elizabeth? Okay... - Easy to believe, actually. But how did these two know each other?  
'You still haven't answered why you are here instead of where you should be, namely at Rosings practising how to dance, Fitzwilliam.'  
'Well... - eh...'  
Okay, the excuse with the shoes was a bit flimsy but perhaps it would work again.  
'You see, I left my shoes at home.'  
'The _shoe shop_ is next door, Fitzwilliam.'  
'Yes, but we missed breakfast and...'  
'You missed breakfast? Now really, Fitzwilliam, since when are you sleeping in? You normally are up and about before the chef even starts his shift. Are you ill?'  
'No, I am perfectly fine. What are you doing here at this time of day anyway? I thought you were at Rosings taking care of things.'  
'So you thought? Well, I came to see if Marjorie is alright, of course. After her breakdown last evening during her class that was the least I could do. After all, it all happened under my roof.'  
Ah, okay, that explained a lot.  
'And earlier on this horrid mother had the gall to come and complain about her daughters being traumatised or something along those lines. Before breakfast! No manners, I tell you. Anyway, I paid them a refund for the remainder of the weekend and dumped them at the station. In person!'  
'Good riddance, if you asked me,' Lady Metcalf emphasized by picking up her cup of tea and toasting towards Elizabeth.  
'Most certainly,' his aunt snapped with an air of complacency. 'By the by, Fitzwilliam, did you see Mr Collins this morning? I didn't see him last night to ask if everything went well. He was done sooner than I had expected, but that is just as well. There is a lot to say about efficiency. Now such a pleasing man, don't you agree?'  
'Uhm - well, there are not many men like him.'  
Thank goodness! Beside him, Lizzy shook with suppressed laughter and even Marjorie Metcalf struggled to keep a straight face. Seriously, if they didn't pull themselves together he would crack up any moment now. But dubbing Mr Collins efficient? Pleasing? Okay, pleasing he might be, though in a very annoying manner, and there were definitely other adjectives he would use for the man. Silly, for example, clumsy, persistent, thick...  
'No, definitely not,' his aunt presently agreed with him. 'So obliging and friendly. Always paying proper compliments with such an unstudied air and so little pretence.'  
Yeah, right... Were they even speaking of the same man?  
'So, how was his lesson, Fitzwilliam?'  
'Very interesting, aunt. He's got his teaching methods down do a T.'  
'And are you prepared for your wedding speech, Will?' Lady Marjorie threw in before his aunt could reply, her eyes sparkling with mischief darting from him over to Elizabeth and back before resting on their entwined hands.  
'As prepared as I will ever be. I think I'll leave it to my best man as one should.'  
'Oh, but Fitzwilliam isn't getting married, Marjorie. He's just here to learn how to dance. At last. Have you heard such a thing, twenty-eight years old and can't dance! Which is exactly why he should be at Rosings and not here dawdling around having breakfast.'  
'Oh? Well, then. If you say so, Catherine. But since they are here now, they can just as well eat something and have a cup of tea with us. You can't dance properly on an empty stomach.'  
Grumbling his aunt condescended and both he and Elizabeth ordered something to eat and a mug of tea for each of them.  
'So, Miss Bennet, where are you from? And what do you do for a living?' his aunt soon enough began her interrogation of which he was surprised that it had not already taken place.  
Then again, she didn't have the time as yet.  
'I study biology and agriculture, but this summer I had to take care of my father's farm after he suffered an accident. And I am from Longbourn, a small village in Hertfordshire, close to Meryton,' Lizzy answered with near perfect poise, save for the twitch at the corners of her mouth that showed her amusement.  
'Then I am sure you must know Mr Collins.'  
'He is my father's cousin, Milady.'  
'Ah, is he now? He never said so.'  
'I presume he didn't have reason to. He didn't even know I was here until he saw us when we were about to leave, nor did I know that he would be one of the tutors.'  
'That actually sounds logical. With all the important stuff we usually have to discuss, the less important things are left unsaid, naturally. So how do you know my nephew?'  
'We met a couple of weeks ago when he was visiting his friend Mr Bingley, who incidentally bought an old estate on the other side of Meryton to turn into a conference centre.'  
'Ah yes. - Have you met Miss Bingley?'  
'I have.'  
Eh, why did he have a feeling that his aunt was up to something?  
'Lovely woman that. So well mannered. Knows exactly what she wants. I greatly admire that in a lady.'  
What the heck? And thinking about it, when and where had she met Caroline of all people? It had been most certainly not through him.  
'I met her earlier this year at one of her mother's charity events. It was very kind of Mrs Hurst to think of me when one of her patrons had to cancel. But then again, I have to say, I do have a bit of a reputation for being charitable. Are you going out with her, Fitzwilliam?'  
'Caroline? Hell, no!'  
If this harpy had implied as much he would throttle her. This was going too far, spreading such rumours among his relatives.  
'If you carry on being this picky you will never find a wife.'  
Right, please Lizzy, give me a sign...

Okay, that was a slight nod, wasn't it? Yes, most certainly.  
'Well, as a matter of fact, I am actually engaged to be married, aunt.'  
'You are _what_?'  
'Are you deaf, Catherine? He said he is getting married,' Lady Metcalf threw in.  
'And why are you here with Miss Bennet then instead of your bride to be?'  
'Take an educated guess, Aunty.'  
'Manners, Fitzwilliam! - Do you mean to say that you and Miss Bennet are getting married?'  
'Yes.'  
One, two, three: explosion... - Or not.

Hello...? No shit hitting the fan? Odd.  
'And there you made such a fuss last night about wanting a second room?!' his aunt finally exclaimed indignantly. 'That's positively silly! We are living in the twenty-first century for heaven's sake. Nothing wrong with a bit of rompy-pompy before marriage. You know, occasionally you are too stuck up for your own good, Fitzwilliam. Mrs Reynolds should dust you off more often before you get too stuffy. Though I guess that is Miss Bennet's job from now on. See to it, dear, will you?'  
Open mouthed Elizabeth nodded.  
Okay, this was not the reaction he had anticipated. Not even remotely.  
'Have you set a date yet?' Aunty Cathy carried on undeterred, ignoring the utter confusion she had just caused.  
'No.'  
'Personally I think a winter wedding is to be preferred to one in summer. What say you, Miss Bennet? - Ah well, I might just as well call you Elizabeth, and you may call me Aunt Catherine – or Cathy, if you must.'  
'I am as yet undecided. I like summer, but it can get a bit too hot. Spring is nice as well, though I have to say my favourite season is autumn when everything gets quieter and colourful. When it comes to winter it depends on the weather. In Hertfordshire it hardly ever snows and so it is mainly just bleak, which is not all that nice, I have to say.'  
'Well, Derbyshire has a lot of snow most years. Then I'd say that is settled,' his aunt stated matter of factly while pulling out her mobile. 'Ah, and as it is, the 6th of January happens to be a Saturday. Now that is lucky. I got married on the 6th of January and my marriage was a happy one.'  
Right, did they have any say in this? Apparently not. And then there was always Mrs Bennet to be reckoned with...  
Elizabeth obviously thought along the same lines judging by the slightly panicky expression on her face. The colour made her face glow. Even in her bewilderment, she looked nothing but stunning in his eyes.  
'Have you eaten up?' Lady Catherine asked all of a sudden, startling them with the change of subject.  
Both he and his beloved nodded like two children not daring to say another word. Okay, perhaps that was better anyway. Who knew what his aunt would say next? Besides, they could always sort out everything later, when they were alone. After all, neither his aunt nor her mother could call the banns for them. Thank goodness!  
'Then go and buy your shoes and off with you to your dancing lessons, Fitzwilliam. You've already missed most of the morning classes anyway, and rest assured, I will insist on a waltz.'  
Ten minutes and a pair of ill-fitting shoes later both he and Elizabeth were back in the car.  
'Lizzy, regarding our original purpose in coming here... - Shall we risk it? I mean not going to the doctor's. I know it was my suggestion in the first place, but it feels wrong somehow, doesn't it? I know you want to finish your studies, but I will be at home, so that won't be a problem even when... - And perhaps you could transfer to Derby university? Don't get me wrong, it is your decision, but I want you to know that you don't have to feel obliged to remedy our little mistake and that there are many options even if there are consequences. Okay?'  
'Thank you, Will,' she whispered as she leaned over to kiss him. 'Yes, let's get back to Rosings and get you to dance at last. Once my mother hears of our engagement, there will be no way out of it and considering that Penny knows I am here with you...'  
'... we will get married on the 6th of January.'  
'Yep.'  
'And maybe have a baby in nine months time. I actually quite like the idea. Now, if you want to buy a wedding dress, I can actually recommend Marjorie's little shop, she's got a good eye and good taste.'  
'Yes, I know. I actually already have... - Never mind.'  
'Spill it!'  
'She gave me a dress as a thank-you whether I wanted it or not.'  
'Good, that's another thing sorted then,' Darcy replied dryly, both bursting out laughing. 


	41. Chapter 41 - Perhaps, a flower theme?

_Chapter 41:_

 _Perhaps, a flower theme?_

'One, two, three - one, two, three - one, two, three...,' the monotonous voice of the dance teacher, enhanced by a badly tuned microphone, sounded in his ears making it hard to pay attention to the actual music.  
Yes, well, what did he know? But somehow Darcy had been under the impression that it was the music one had to follow and it didn't exactly help that from the little he could hear of the tune, the instructor seemed to be off with her counting. Ah well, never mind. Why worry when he held his smiling bride in his arms?  
His bride... - Had it not been for the several times Elizabeth and he had stepped onto each other's feet, he would have had to ask her to pinch him, just to make certain that he wasn't still dreaming. He was going to be married. It was a bit crazy, for sure, since it was not as if they knew each other for all that long, and even that was a bit of a stretch of the truth. It had barely been a month since they had first met. But seriously, did that really matter?  
Many, no doubt, would say yes, but come on, who could guarantee that one was better off after a five-year engagement? Oddly enough Aunty Catherine seemed to agree. For once in her life. She normally would do honour to her middle-name: Mary, Mary quite contrary...

So, it appeared as if he had long since been dubbed a hopeless case when it came to marrying and having a family, prompting in the unexpected euphoria. Shoot, he would never hear the end of it, once Fitz got wind of that one.  
'Ouch!'  
'Sorry.'  
'No probs.'  
The dance went on sheer endlessly, as if it was played in a loop. Okay, a bit of practice was obviously necessary, and not just for him but for many other couples, but come on three frickin' hours? And they hadn't even gotten past a simple two-step, which they had learned first, and how to waltz.  
'And now twirl around...' the dance mistress prompted for the umpteenth time, seemingly stifling a yawn.  
She was a young woman whose dark-circled eyes could not even be hidden by the generous amount of makeup she'd put on. No need guessing who had gone on a long night out there. Casting a glance at Lizzy, he could not help smiling, and proudly so. Though they had not gotten much sleep either, she looked as fresh and blooming as always, her cheeks tinted with a healthy blush, her eyes bright and not the slightest trace of tiredness on her features. How he himself looked he wasn't quite sure of for admittedly he had been quite pissed before he had fallen asleep on the spot giving his cousin the perfect opportunity to pose him in the most humiliating way humanly possible. Yeah well, in the end, it had been a success, but at the time? Nope.  
Well, everyone presumably knows instances like this, right? Going for a nice cup of coffee sitting out on the terrace on the first date and all those lovely pigeons to feed... - Until one crapped onto one's head that was. Then they weren't so lovely anymore. Seriously, Darcy was quite sure this never happened once a couple had been together for any length of time and when the partner would know that one wasn't a complete dolt. No, it had to be on the first date to make it so wonderfully awkward and perhaps end what hadn't even started. Hm, perhaps that was its very purpose. To test one's fortitude. Cosmic justice and all this shite. In effect it wasn't any fairer than the English courts... - Oh, break time!

Waiting until most of the people had filed out of the room to refresh and then go to lunch, Elizabeth and he were the last to leave the large room and step into the comparatively dark entrance hall. Did he imagine it, or did the two figures approaching them look oddly familiar?  
'Lizzy? Now really!'  
No, he had not imagined it. There was no mistaking Mrs Bennet's voice, especially not when she was in a state of excitement as she obviously was right now.  
'Mum? Dad? What are you doing here?'  
'We've come for your wedding, dummy! Now to get married without your parents knowing. Shame on you!' Fanny carried on.  
Behind his wife, Mr Bennet only shrugged his shoulders apologetically as if to say: "I would have told her that Lizzy isn't getting married if she'd let me put in a word or two edgewise during our way here..."  
'It was very fortunate that William called us to tell us as soon as he had found out what's going on so we could leave straight away. And thank goodness it's Saturday and the girls are at home and Kitty and Lydia immediately volunteered to take care of the milking and feeding, so I bundled up your father and here we are now. When is the ceremony to take place? Don't tell me we are too late already!'  
'Mum...'  
'Oh, I knew it! My first daughter married and I have missed the wedding! The M25 was packed, I tell you. Motorway? More like giant car park! But why didn't you want us to be there? It is very hurtful, you know?'  
'Mama...'  
'But I won't be ungracious. No, let me congratulate you, despite all. I will not hold it against you. Though it was so very inconsiderate. I should be very cross with you, I should! To go visit Jane and then sneak off here. I hope you wore a nice dress. I have no opinion of people who are getting married in jeans and a T-shirt.'  
At last Fanny Bennet stopped speaking, gasping for air.  
'Mum, please, we haven't gotten married yet.'  
'Not? Oh, thank goodness! And when is the ceremony to take place?'

Right, perhaps he was a bit old-fashioned there, but perhaps now was the right moment to take Mr Bennet to somewhere quiet and ask for his daughter's hand. Just to be proper.  
'I am so sorry about my wife and her antics. Alas, she is very excitable. I swear, had I had any notion about what was going on, I would have hidden her keys, papers, whatever instead of handing her mine when she couldn't find hers. I thought someone had an accident or something and then out of the blue, she started with Lizzy getting married. Well, after she purchased all the baby-things, I probably shouldn't be surprised, but...'  
'No need to apologise, Mr Bennet. I... - actually wanted to ask for Lizzy's hand.'  
'Her hand? Why?'  
'In marriage, Sir.'  
'Only the hand? You are an odd young man. If my Lizzy is willing to part with it, fine. It's completely up to her. I, for my part, would not love her any less with just one hand, but I perhaps should ask you to take her left. You know, for practical reasons.'  
'To be honest, I'd prefer Lizzy attached to it.'  
'Ah, but why did you not say so? So, you want to marry my daughter?'  
'I just said so, Mr Bennet.'  
'No, you said you wanted to marry her hand.'  
'Right...'  
'Does she know you want to marry her?'  
'She's accepted my proposal, so yes, she does.'  
'Then what am I to say to it? She's all grown up and you seem as decent a fellow as any I have come across. You either make her happy or cry, just as any other man would. Just let me warn you, I might not look it, but I am an extremely good shot and English prisons are not all that bad from what I've heard.'  
'Eh, no.'  
'So you've got some experience then?'  
Okay, Darcy could either lie or tell the embarrassing truth... - He was not a good liar.  
'Not all that much. A few weeks back I forgot my keys and tried to climb up the water spout at Netherfield and, of course, someone saw me thought I was a burglar and called the police who then arrested me. I shared the cell with one of their own, so at least I was in good company. The worst bit was the breakfast - baked beans on toast.'  
'I thought torture was prohibited in this country,' Tom Bennet grinned.  
'Yeah, well, it has become more subtle, but that's it. No more rack or iron maiden, you know the more flashy stuff one can show of with. No, nowadays it's the food that brings one to one's knees and makes one confess to any crime the imagination can come up with under such circumstances in the hopes it'll all go away. And I dare say that are actually quite a few.'  
'And what did you come up with?'  
'Oh, the same old. Locked my nephews in the tower and then had them killed...'  
'Ah, and there I thought it would be something serious.'  
'Na. And besides, the evidence was so thin that they had to acquit me anyway.'  
'Good. I am glad to hear it. So, when do you intend to marry my darling girl? - Oh, and whenever it is, can you please convince your friend, if he has any thoughts of that kind, that it would be most convenient if he and Jane would get married the same day?'  
'We had agreed on the 6th of January.'  
'Okay, good. That sounds reasonable. Long enough to make preparations, short enough to prevent my wife from overdoing things.'  
'Actually, there is my aunt to consider as well. She is surprisingly keen on seeing me married and Mrs Bennet and her combined...'  
'Oh my goodness, don't say it! The mere thought is dreadful enough. Your aunt is the proprietor of Rosings, isn't she? I think my cousin said something along those lines.'  
'Yes.'  
'Then let's hurry back inside before they have a chance to meet!'

But sure enough, it was too late. There his aunt stood, chatting merrily with Mrs Bennet, while Elizabeth was nowhere to be seen.  
'But she can't have a yellow bouquet, that's for sure!' Lady Catherine said with determination. 'It's such a vulgar colour. Only orange is worse when it comes to flowers.'  
'And white is just too colourless,' Mrs Bennet threw in.  
'Quite so. And naturally, we cannot have a meal under five courses.'  
'But of course. What would you say to smoked salmon as a starter? Or chicken-liver pate? Or perhaps we could offer both and have the guests choose?'  
'That is a very good idea. Perhaps someone doesn't eat fish and then it would be quite embarrassing to not be able to offer an alternative. - Oh, and we have to offer something vegetarian as well.'  
'Very true! What about vegans? I don't know any in our family, but one has to be considerate.'  
Oh, shoot! They were doomed, for sure. Better not mention that someone might require the food to be halal, or gluten-free...  
'Mr Darcy, if it were me, I would take flight right now.'  
'Not without Lizzy.'  
'Fair enough. I'll distract them for as long as I can and you hurry to Gretna Green asap.'  
It did start to sound tempting, though, of course, nowadays one didn't just pop up there to get married over the anvil. Nope, paperwork was obligatory, love was optional.  
'Ah, there you are, Fitzwilliam!'  
Okay, too late for that anyway. Again!  
'We have come up with a couple of ideas for your wedding, nephew. Now, what do you say, the ceremony takes place here and...'  
'Absolutely not!'  
'But why not? I have a chef at hand and the rooms here are nice and spacious, in short, it's the ideal setting.'  
'May I remind you, that I, too, have a chef at hand? Two even, and a couple of part-timers. A hotel that has pretty much the same capacity than Rosings, plus the private bedrooms in the main house and a few holiday homes? That Pemberley has a much larger ballroom _and_ a chapel on site?'  
'What, that dingy old building?'  
'What's wrong with a medieval chapel?'  
'It's on the other side of the park. I can't remember that it was ever used during your mother's lifetime. I would not even know about it, had she not dragged me around the whole of the estate until I was quite sick of seeing so many woods and lawns and gardens.'  
One thing was sure, Lizzy would not get sick of her surroundings and neither would he. Ever!

But okay, his aunt did have a point after all. The chapel had not been in use since Edwardian times at least and he had actually almost forgotten about it until Lady Catherine had raised the question where they would be married.

It lay tucked away at the far end of his lands amidst the woods, pretty much only accessible by a narrow and overgrown footpath or a small driveway that didn't really deserve the name, truth be told. It once had been the church of a small village that had been devastated during the great plague. Not exactly the most cheerful part of English history for sure, but then again, what was? Thinking of it, life always seems to have been rather miserable. Right, that was perhaps a bit harsh. Yet, historians seemed to have a knack for making it appear so.  
Sod love and kindness. - War? Lots to write about. Especially how many people perished in battle and how many more due to minor injuries that got infected or even got killed by something as unspectacular as dysentery while on campaign, like Henry V for example. Way to go for such a great king like him and after winning the battle of Agincourt.

Plague? Also good stuff. The more to die the merrier.

Intrigue? Even better. Come on, who didn't like to read about the decadence and perfidy of the Borgia's or Medici even today? Or watch it on telly, more like.

And at any rate, not much had changed. Put a nice murder on the front-page of any given tabloid and the paper would sell five times as well as when the headlines had been dedicated to the opening of parliament. That's why no-one ever really read The Times. Boring stuff that.  
'Fitzwilliam, I have asked you something!'  
'Excuse me, I was wondering how long it'll take to get the chapel into pristine condition...'  
'I thought we had agreed on you not getting married there. What do you say to braised lamb shanks? And pink roses, perhaps?'  
'Lamb shanks sound nice, the roses not so much. I mean, do you mean as a side or desert? Or...?'  
'Not to eat, of course. For decoration!'  
'Lamb shanks for decoration?' Mr Bennet threw in before Darcy could answer, sporting an innocent expression.  
'Don't play stupid, Thomas!'  
'I am not. One can eat roses. There is rose sugar, I've had rose ice-cream once, and rose-tea and I've read about rose biscuits as well. However, I've never heard of lamb shanks being used for decorative purposes, perhaps save for the exception of a butcher's shop display. Though thinking about it, it would actually make the whole thing an interestingly unique one.'  
Aunt Catherine's face lit up. Not a good sign. Not in this instant at any rate. In his mind Darcy already pictured rows of steaming braised lamb shanks lining the hallways of Pemberley...  
'That's it! Even though the wedding will be in winter, we could give it a flower theme.'  
Yeah, right! That made sense. Marry in winter, but make it look like summer. Hm, why not hold the wedding in July and organise some fake snow?  
'Where's Lizzy?'  
'Oh, I don't know. Is she not here?'  
'Unless she can make herself invisible, then not, Fanny,' Mr Bennett remarked dryly.  
'Presumably taking some lunch, Fitzwilliam,' his aunt came up with the most likely solution.  
Stupid that he hadn't thought about that himself. Gently shoving his soon to be father in law towards the dining room, he gazed around and fortunately found her sitting wedged between both his cousins.  
Out of the frying pan and into the fire... 


	42. Chapter 42 - Better be prepared

_Chapter 42:_

 _Better be prepared_

'Ah, Elizabeth, dear, there you are!' Lady Catherine boomed, strutting towards her and her mother, who was already and unsurprisingly, planning her wedding, one idea following the other like a waterfall of words or rather severe verbal diarrhoea.  
Not a minute later, and Mrs Bennet and Lady Catherine, after what hardly could be described as an introduction, were both deeply engrossed in the conversation barely paying her, the bride, any heed.

Apparently, this wedding-planning was a highly contagious disease...  
Several times Elizabeth tried to put an end to the never-ending ideas sprouting from a moment of obvious madness, but to no avail. It was Fitz, who managed to interrupt them if only for a short moment, to ask where Darcy and Elizabeth were since lunch was about to be served.  
'I guess you have heard the news already, Richard, your cousin is getting married,' Lady Catherine asked off-handedly before turning towards Fanny Bennet again.  
'Anne?'  
'No, Fitzwilliam, of course,' his aunt reprimanded in a manner that indicated that in this instance she thought him a bit daft. 'Anne is far too sensible to marry. She doesn't need a man to tell her what to do and what not.'  
'Eh, no,' the colonel stammered, utterly taken aback at first, before his face broke into a wide grin. 'Who would have thought my little scheme would be _this_ successful? I'm pretty proud of myself.'  
'What are you talking about, Richard? You do know you sound quite nonsensical, don't you?'  
Lady Catherine had turned around again, with an expression so irritated, it would make most people cower before her. Not her nephew, though.  
'Oh, never mind, aunty,' Fitz replied cheerfully. 'Are you coming for lunch, Elizabeth? Where is Darcy?'  
'He went outside, I believe.'  
And in answer to his first question, she simply turned to follow him seeing that both her mother and her groom's aunt were already back to discussing _her_ wedding as if no interruption had ever taken place – and as if there was no tomorrow.

Elizabeth would have to put her foot down eventually, but for the moment, there was little she could do. These two had to be tackled one at a time.  
'So, what do you say to the little display I left in your room for you last night?'  
'It wasn't all that original. And actually, it was quite mean.'  
'Okay, perhaps... - But you try and come up with something better when in a hurry. I mean, think of all the logistics I had to manage. Drag my cousin up the stairs, strip him, which was quite a bit of work, for at the time he was still half conscious, then tie him up, gather all your clothes together, hide the key - which is something I'd rather not think about. Anyway, I hope it wasn't too much of a disappointment. I mean, in comparison to my...'  
'I'd rather not know!'  
'Okay, yes, TMFI. And besides, it would be unfair to brag about my substantial, quite large actually... - Hi, Anne! Have you heard, Darcy is getting married?'  
'Yes, I have. Ever since my mother came back from Westerham she's been talking of nothing else. Do you remember the name of the website that sold restraining jackets? I sure as hell need one sooner or later before I am tempted to commit murder. You know, I would not mind marrying per se, but just thinking of my mother preparing for my wedding, makes me think twice.'  
Okay, that Elizabeth could understand. Thoroughly!

At the time of accepting Darcy, she had been too overjoyed to think any further, or anything really, apart from that they would be man and wife and very happy. She was very sure of that. Determined even. - But then her mother had appeared like a genie from a bottle and poof, reality had struck.  
'By the by, are you and Peter still an item?' Fitz inquired as they sat down at the head table.  
With a small shrug Anne de Bourgh replied: 'Friends with benefits, rather. It's the only thing where we're compatible. And unfortunately very much so.'  
'Why, unfortunately?' Elizabeth couldn't help asking.  
'Because in the end a vibrator would be less troublesome, yet it's missing something very important.'  
'Like?' her cousin dug deeper.  
'Hands. Damn, that man knows how to rub one's back, I tell you!'  
'Anne, you do know that rubbing one's back has sod all to do with what is meant with benefits, right?'  
'And you ought to know that there is such a thing as fore- and after play, Fitz.'  
Richard Fitzwilliam only shrugged before taking his plate and walking over to the ample buffet that had been served on the other side of the room. By the way, how was it that no-one stared? Okay, most people around were queueing at the buffet. Thank goodness! One humiliation she had been spared.  
'Come on, let's go and get something between our teeth as well before the food is gone. You would be amazed at how quickly people can clear the lot. It seems to me as if the word buffet alone induces people to take about five times as much food as they can possibly and reasonably eat during one meal,' Anne said wryly grinning, making Elizabeth laugh while at the same time she had quite elegantly managed to change the subject.  
When smiling, Anne de Bourgh was actually really pretty despite her pale complexion and the mousy hair colour.  
'Well,' Elizabeth took up the proffered, more harmless topic. 'I remember the one time when Sir Willy, our neighbour back home, recommended a restaurant only because it served portions so large that one could not possibly finish them. And believe me, he can eat a lot! So that has to say something.'  
'Human nature, I suppose. Everyone wants as much as possible for their money, whether they actually need it or not. It's how sales work. Why not buy that black coat, even though you already have three that look almost identical? After all, it's thirty per cent off. A bargain!'  
'My father always says that it's only a bargain when you actually need it.'  
'Yep. Oh no... - Not again!'  
'What? What's wrong?'  
'Cottage pie! Not that I mind, I love that stuff, truth be told, but it seems I'll be spending the next few weeks looking for a new chef once again. I swear, if this place ever gets haunted it is by me, looking for a new chef even from beyond the grave.'  
'And if you call it something different? Works with a lot of things. Posh restaurants call bubble and squeak colcannon these days, thinly sliced beetroot with some marinade is dubbed carpaccio of beetroot with whatever vinaigrette instead of beetroot salad, and good old onion-jam became confit a l'onion – or as my mother would say "con-fit allonnion".'  
'Right, let's get creative,' Anne grinned even broader while filling her plate with some coleslaw and pie. 'What do you say to "baked steak tartar in juicy sauce topped with a luscious layer of mashed potatoes"?'  
'Perfect!'  
'Now I just need to translate it into French.'  
'Why?'  
'To make it sound even posher. I'm not good at French... - Okay, forget I said that. I can't _speak_ French. Ah, but thank goodness, there are translation engines on the internet.'  
Anne was about to pull out her mobile, when Darcy and Elizabeth's father appeared, looking like what would be best described as haunted.

Seemed as if Lady Catherine and her mother were still going strong...  
'Are you alright, Lizzy?' Darcy asked while taking a seat, pulling another chair over for Mr Bennet with his foot.  
'At the moment, yes. But I am starting to dread the next couple of months. Are my mother and your aunt still...'  
'Yes, and they will still be making plans in a fortnight if we don't interrupt them. And once your mother is back home, your aunt Rosie will have her share in the planning as well,' her father sighed. 'And Penny, and Mary, Kitty and Lydia, who might be the most sensible of the lot, and, of course, all the ladies from the farmer's wives association and...'  
'Please _stop_!'  
'Evenually you'll have to face the facts, my dear. Better be prepared than overrun. At least we're not Catholic or I am sure your mother would drag you all the way to Rome to have you married by the pope.'  
'Steak de tartare cuit dans une sauce juteuse garni d'une délicieuse couche de purée de pommes de terre,' Anne suddenly piped up, startling everybody.  
'What?'  
Bless her, another attempt to change the subject to more comfortable matters.  
'Oh, never mind. I was just trying to find an alternative name for cottage pie.'  
'Why not call it shepherd's pie?' Fitz offered.  
'It has to sound fancy.'  
'But Steak de ta... - whatever, is perhaps a bit long, don't you think?'  
'Well, shepherd's pie translates to tarte au berger, if I remember it correctly,' Tom Bennet offered, nicking a piece of apple from his daughter's plate.  
'Perfect!' Anne smiled. 'Tarte au berger it is. And now onto the more pressing matter of how to prevent our relatives and friends from going overboard with your wedding.'  
'That won't be quite as simple.'  
'On the contrary, it's a piece of cake. We simply invite them all here for a workshop, something that has to do with weddings would be best, naturally. Why not "Paperflower folding-power", or "How to cry with dignity during the ceremony 101"? I also like the ideas of "Hat design to mismatch your dress" and "Wedding-cake architecture of the 19th century", or perhaps "A lesson in wine - quantity before quality". And while they are busy with that, the two of you can prepare everything in peace.'  
'That sounds like a good plan, actually,' Tom Bennet replied, stealing yet another piece of apple from Elizabeth. 'And if I may make a suggestion, Lizzy, Will, it is always best to start with what one doesn't want and go from there. And that will be the only advice I'll give in regards to your wedding, just in case you were worried.'  
'I was,' Elizabeth laughed, reaching for Darcy's hand. 'But, as always, your advice seems a sound one.'  
'I wish I had paid any heed to it myself...' her father replied with a sigh, the implication clear. 'But alas, we're all fools in love and as it is, it never gets boring, so I have little reason to complain after all.'  
'That's one way to see it,' Fitz remarked, pushing away his plate of tarte au berger. 'I like that attitude. Think positive. Always good. Works for the military as well. I mean, whoever thought of calling it friendly fire was a genius. What could be more friendly than being shot by one of your own? Just to think that someone might call it a misfired shot or something equally unpoetic makes me cringe.'  
'Don't you think that's a bit dark, Fitz?' Darcy inquired.  
'No, not at all. It's a matter of having the last laugh.'  
'Ha-ha!'  
'Exactly. Now you've got it. So, what is it you'd rather avoid on your wedding day?'  
'The mother in law,' Elizabeth's father prompted without giving Darcy a chance to answer.  
'Eh...' her groom stammered, a blush creeping up his cheeks.  
'Papa, really, that isn't fair. We haven't been engaged a day and you already take the mickey.'  
'Well, as said, you need to be prepared for what is to come. Your mother will drag you to every single bridal shop from here to the Scottish border, if not beyond and will insist on the gaudiest dress you can possibly imagine. If you are not careful you will end up wearing an orange dress holding a pink bouquet and hobble around on stilts.'  
'Cheers.'  
'Pleasure.'  
'But as it is, the dress is already sor...'  
'LIZZY! FITZWILLIAM! Come here! Catherine and I have a couple of ideas and we'd like to know what you think about them,' Mrs Bennet shouted above the conversations of the dining room, standing in the doorway with an eager and excited expression on her face, while all heads turned in her direction.  
'Point taken, dad,' Elizabeth could not help sighing.  
The grin on her father's face was a decided manifestation of the verbal "I told you so!".

It was no small relief that Darcy also got up, and together they made their way towards the entrance hall, and from there down a passage into what seemed like Lady Catherine's private sitting room.  
The whole of the coffee table was scattered with various magazines and catalogues and what seemed like old menus from Rosings alongside an oversized bright green calculator in the shape of a frog, the display being the open mouth of the poor creature while one eye was the on-switch and the other would produce the desired result. Seriously, animal cruelty was so not on!  
'Lizzy, Fitzwilliam, what do you say to a beach wedding?' Lady Catherine asked with an enthusiasm that could only be equalled to that of a toddler's on Christmas morning. 'I made some calculations already and...'  
'In January?' Darcy blurted out. 'Sounds like a plan. We could all go for a swim afterwards. Dundee seems to be the perfect location.'  
'Codswallop! A proper beach wedding...'  
'Torbay perhaps? After all, it's called the English Riviera, isn't it?'  
'The Caribbean, Fitzwilliam!'  
'No.'  
'Why not? It's nice and warm, no-one would need to worry about coats and stuff and accommodation for the guests will be cheap. Okay, the flight might cost a couple of Pounds, but that really shouldn't matter.'  
'We might not need to worry about coats and stuff but about hurricanes, sharks and the Bermuda Triangle.'  
'And besides, why have a winter-wedding then?' Elizabeth threw in.  
'Do you really want to get married on a dark and damp day, rain pouring down and mud everywhere?' her mother inquired in a way that showed that for her the matter was already decided.  
'It usually snows in Derbyshire at that time of year, Mrs Bennet,' Will pointed out.  
'See, that's even worse, Lizzy. Your dress will blend into the background. No-one will see you,' her mother all but wailed now.  
'I could wear a safety vest...'  
'Now really, Lizzy!'  
'Perhaps we should postpone the discussion of where the wedding will be in favour of the colour scheme...' Lady Catherine suggested, obviously undeterred. 'Now pink and red are so common, what do you say about purple or turquoise?'  
'Or both?' her mother beamed as if she had just now found the Holy Grail. 'They are complementary colours, you know? It would look quite stunning.'  
Okay, neither colour was bad, and Elizabeth had actually a turquoise tunic with purple and green embroidery she really liked, but as colour-scheme for a wedding? Nope. No way!  
'Mum, could we please postpone the _whole_ discussion until later? Will and I haven't even been engaged these six hours, it's not as if we are getting married next week. There is plenty of time, yet.'  
'But time will fly, you'll see. Bit's always best to get everything out of the way as soon as possible. - Oh, just to think that next year this time I might be a grandmother!'  
NOOOOOOOOOOO!  
'Oh, that would be so romantic. A wedding night baby!' Catherine de Bourgh cooed.  
"Why, Lord, why?" Elizabeth silently prayed.  
'Lessons commence!' someone cried out from the hallway.

Someone who sounded suspiciously like her father pinching his nose so his voice would go unrecognised.  
If so, it hadn't worked. As she and Darcy hurried out of the room, poor Tom Bennet was dragged into it and with an ominous thud the door was shut and her father trapped between a rock and a hard place or in this case between his own dear wife and Lady Catherine de Bourgh.


	43. Chapter 43 - Home?

_Chapter 43:_

 _Home?_

'So, what do we do now?' Elizabeth asked tiredly. 'I have to admit I have little notion of doing any more dancing...'  
'Of course not!' Fitz's voice sounded up and an instant later he rounded the corner of the staircase and stepped into the hall, carrying their luggage. 'I see Tom managed to get you out of there and all went according to plan. Now all you have to do is take your stuff and head north...'  
'Wait! You forgot something,' Anne came running towards them, carrying the bag with the wedding dress carefully holding it with both hands. 'You're going to need this. And now flee as long as the dragons are in their lair.'  
Stunned Elizabeth and Darcy watched on as their possessions were carried outside and over to the car park. What else was there to do but follow?  
'Right, now that we are out of sight let me make a quick suggestion,' the colonel commenced, glancing over his shoulder as if he expected his aunt and Mrs Bennet to appear out of thin air at any given moment. 'You get everything prepared for the wedding as soon as you can and we see you in a couple of weeks in our Sunday best. It'll be the only possible way to not turn the whole thing into a state affair.'  
Right, that made sense, sadly enough.  
A moment later Darcy and her sat in his Landrover and slowly he pulled out of the car park before picking up speed.

The whole situation felt somewhat surreal.  
'I'm sorry, Will...,' Elizabeth began when they had left Hunsford behind and were well on their way towards the motorway.  
'So am I. My aunt is trying one's patience at the best of times, but that exceeded even my expectations,' Darcy replied, pinching the bridge of his nose as if he wanted to assure himself that he wasn't dreaming.  
'Put together with my mother, they are a menace. I do feel sorry for my dad.'  
'Yes, me, too. Home? - Pemberley, I mean.'  
That sounded lovely. Yet...  
'I would love to, but...'  
'You feel obliged to go back to Longbourn?'  
'Yes, as silly as that might sound,' Elizabeth sighed.  
'It doesn't,' Darcy answered re-assuringly, though there was a hint of disappointment in his voice. 'You do feel responsible for your family, and I for my part would say that is a very good thing.'  
'But you'd rather I came with you.'  
'Naturally. As said, I've missed you these last couple of weeks. But thank goodness we live in a time where the telephone has been invented and we don't need to rely on the post to hear from one another.'  
'Though, writing love letters sounds quite romantic,' Elizabeth grinned.  
'Hm, then I shall write as well as call you.'

As they drove on, they chatted about this and that, carefully avoiding the topic of their upcoming nuptials. Seriously, for today there had been enough talk of that. Actually, it was almost enough to last for a lifetime. Of course, eventually plans would have to be made, and there was still a lot to organise, not least of all, her moving up to Derbyshire and changing uni and then there might be a baby...

Okay, perhaps they should speak about the wedding after all.  
'Lizzy,' Darcy began hesitantly, after they had driven in silence for a couple of minutes, his thoughts obviously going down the same path. 'How would you like our wedding to be?'  
'Quiet. Just family and close friends, nothing too fancy. And you?'  
'Same here. There is an old chapel at Pemberley, at the far side of the park...'  
'You have your own chapel?'  
'Well, yes. It is not in use anymore but still consecrated so we could marry there if it would suit you. I think the church officials just forgot all about it. It is tucked away in the woods.'  
'By the sound of it, it would suit me very well, Will.'  
'Then I will see that it's prepared. How many people do you estimate we're going to be? From my side that would be...' he calculated in his head before continuing. 'Twelve, if I haven't forgotten anybody. Let's say twenty, just to be on the safe side, oh, and not counting the children.'  
'On my side, it's around the same. Not more than twenty adults, I mean.'  
'Good, let's say around forty people plus a couple of kids. That sounds reasonable. Let's have a cuppa, shall we?'  
'Yep.'  
Damn, this was so nice. A peaceful and sensible conversation with no danger of any kind of interruption. Bless the person who had decided that a mobile phone needed an off-switch! But did she really have to go back to Longbourn? Okay, she would go back for a week or so and then join Will... - But a week could be such an incredibly long time. Especially when missing someone. Oh dear! Damned if you do, damned if you don't. If she _didn't_ go back home, she would feel guilty, if she _did_ , she would, too. Blast!  
Darcy stopped at the next road services, despite the fact that they had almost reached Hertfordshire by now. The next exit would lead them up the M1 and only roughly thirty miles from here they would have reached her destination. Bummer!  
When they both held a cup of tea in their hands, Elizabeth commenced the conversation: 'What do you suggest we serve our guests for the wedding breakfast?'  
'Being a farmer, I fully promote seasonal food. Why one would want strawberries in December is beyond me. They taste of nothing but water and not very nice one on top of that.'  
'Yep. Okay, so what's seasonal in January?'  
'Right, that might be tricky. But perhaps we should take Fitz's advice...'  
'True. Just to imagine my mum making any more plans makes me shiver. And as the date approaches it'll only get worse. At least my dad is back home to prevent her from buying things on a whim left right and centre.'  
'So, we're talking mid-November then?'  
'Looks like it.'  
'Good, we can work with that. How many courses? My aunt insisted on five, but I personally would say three are more than sufficient and perhaps a small buffet later on in the evening.'  
'That sounds good. And let's not forget tea.'  
'True, though perhaps we should arrange for the wedding to take place sometime during the afternoon instead around midday. It can drag endlessly otherwise,' Darcy suggested carefully.

Good thinking actually. She had not thought about that. But he was certainly right. A wedding could drag on forever and then people got bored and usually that was when a lot of shit happened.  
'Definitely,' Elizabeth wholeheartedly agreed. 'Around three?'  
'Perfect! - So, instead of lunch, we could serve tea, meaning pastries, sandwiches and all that and then have a three-course wedding breakfast after the church ceremony.'  
'Good plan. Excellent!'  
'You do know that you don't have to agree with me on everything?'  
'Yes. But I can hardly help it if I _am_ actually agreeing with you, Will,' Elizabeth laughed in reply.  
'Good. I just wanted to make sure. Anything you don't like food-wise other than broccoli?'  
'Beetroot. I hate the stuff with a vengeance, but that's pretty much it.'  
'Okay, I actually like them. What about Brussels sprouts?' he asked, his face suspiciously neutral.  
'I love them, believe it or not.'  
Darcy pulled a face and acted as if he shivered at the mere thought.  
'I am glad to find that we are not of the same mind on everything, it would've made me suspicious.'  
'Dito. But so it is perfectly perfect. Soup or starter?'  
'Considering that it'll be cold and in all likeliness wet, I'd say soup.'

When at last they had pulled into Longbourn's driveway, it was decided, that they would have a clear oxtail soup as a starter and a selection of traditional roasts with condiments and seasonal vegetables as the main course. Only the desert was to be decided on, but that wouldn't be much of a problem. Actually, had they just had another quarter of an hour of road ahead of them, Elizabeth was pretty sure they would have settled that as well.  
Darcy had barely stopped the car when Lydia came running out of the house, waving frantically.  
'Good God, what happened?' Elizabeth cried out, panic-stricken, clambering out of the car almost forgetting to take off the seatbelt. 'Is everything alright?'  
'You tell me, Lizzy?! Dad called and told us to pack your stuff. He sounded weird and in the background, I could hear mum screech like a banshee about I know not what. It didn't make much sense. Have you been kicked out or something? And if, what the heck did you do?'

'Well, as far as I'm aware I've not been kicked out though it currently seems as if I have been after all. Anyway, I guess it's because Will and I are getting married, and we basically had to take flight when mum and Lady Catherine started to plan the wedding as soon as they caught wind of it.'  
'Oh dear! No wonder mum was über-excited,' Lydia remarked casually. 'Anyway, good for you. - And see, if it hadn't been for me making sure you've got each other's telephone numbers you would still be utterly clueless and miserably single. But I think we better get inside and help Kitty carry down the boxes. Mary is busy, as always. - Hi, Will!'  
Darcy only had time to lift his hand before Lydia's friendly slap hit him on the shoulder, producing a chuckle from him.  
'Boxes?' Elizabeth stuttered.  
'Well, we figured that you'd want to take your books and stuff - CD's and DVD's I mean. By the way, can I borrow Braveheart? I haven't watched it in ages.'  
'Sure.'  
'Dad just called asking if Lizzy is here already,' Kitty called from the vestibule.  
'Just arrived,' Lydia shouted back.  
There seemed to be some talk on the phone and a moment later Catherine Bennet skipped outside with a broad smile.  
'Okay, dad says we are to hurry, Lizzy. They are already near Watford, currently taking a break. I think dad called from the loo. It sounded like it.'  
And it would make sense, for at least there his wife would never follow. Never ever! If she couldn't go to the ladies' Fanny Bennet would hold it in until tears were brimming her eyes. Or so to speak, until she spilt over.  
But seriously, this felt as if she was a criminal on the run. It was quite thrilling. Okay, and a little weird. This was most certainly not how she had imagined things would be going once she moved out. Then again, technically she had already done so when she'd gone to uni.

Fifteen minutes and five pairs of hands later, since even Mary had rolled up her sleeves in the end, and if only to have some peace and quiet again, her stuff was neatly stuffed into Darcy's Landrover and giving her three younger sisters a hearty hug, off they were again.

As said, it felt weird and at the same time oh so good. And after all, lengthy good-byes were a nuisance anyway, right?  
By the time they passed Leicester the issue of the desert had also been settled with some pragmatism. Why choose between so many delicious things when one could simply have a choice of sweet stuff served as a buffet? Sorted! The flowers, too, were no longer an issue. They would simply see what Pemberley had on offer. Not that that would be all that much come November, but Darcy had assured her that he had a couple of roses that always blossomed very late and if they didn't this time around then there were always the colourful leaves to resort to. Both her mother and his aunt would be shocked for sure, but hey, either of them had had their day and as for her mother, she'd soon have her silver wedding anniversary to plan to her own heart's delight, or rather as much as her husband would allow.

Then again, knowing Tom Bennet, he would presumably just hide away on his farm or alternatively in his library and let her be. He probably would have done so even now, given the choice. As the streets got windier and the villages they passed smaller and smaller, Elizabeth's anticipation grew. What would Pemberley be like? Would it be imposing or rather comfortable? Or perhaps both?

It was beginning to get dark, mainly because rain clouds were gathering overhead. The landscape was nothing like the soft green rolling hills of Hertfordshire. These hills here were ragged and steep, rocks scattered here and there. It was beautiful and also a little ominous in the semi-darkness. In the valley below a small stream glistened in the fading light and the wind combed through the trees with more force than further to the south. Thinking of it, Will fit this landscape perfectly.  
'So, we're almost there, Lizzy. This is the turn into the park. It will be some surprise for Georgie, I am sure.'  
Georgie? Oh dear!

She had completely forgotten that his sister now lived at Pemberley.  
"Don't panic, all will be well. She will like you, if not immediately then at least in time. Probably. Right?" Elizabeth thought to herself, suddenly growing tense.

Right, she was as taut as a longbow.  
'Will, are you sure your sister will be alright with me moving in? I mean it is a bit sudden...'  
'I have no doubt. Actually, I am quite convinced that she likes you already and at any rate, she has been eager to meet you from the moment I first told her about you. I am sure you will like each other very much. - Ah, but there we are now!'  
Okay, that Pemberley was a large estate Elizabeth had gathered, that it was _this_ grand, however, she had not expected. Yet she was relieved to see that with all its grandeur it also looked inviting. It was not one of those neo-gothic abominations that made one freak out come nightfall, but a Queen Anne/ Early Georian building with large windows in symmetrical lines, a row of columns sheltering the massive front doors all set in a lovely garden, overlooking a lake with the rugged hills as a backdrop. Though the windows aside from three on the upper story which seemed to belong to the same room, were dark, it did not appear glum in the least, and at any rate, Darcy drove his car to the back of the house and parked it in front of a much less imposing door, which she soon found out, led to the kitchen past a surprisingly chaotic bootroom.  
The smell of food wafted through the passage as soon as they stepped in and as they opened the door to the kitchen it intensified. In an instant Elizabeth found herself in another world. Or more like in another century. The room looked spotless and yet as if the last renovations had taken place around 1900. The only indication that she was still in the now and then was the kitchen machine in the corner and the fridge, as well as the industrial dishwasher she could spot through the door leading to the scullery, otherwise the picture would have been perfect.

Okay, it was perfect even now. Rows of plate racks lined the walls, copper pots and pans were hanging from a rack surrounding the hood over the massive range that was still fired with coal. There was an old-fashioned kitchen trolley with some dirty dishes on it ready to be carted over to the scullery and in the middle of the room there was a massive old table with several mismatched chairs around it. But what really brought a smile to her face was the sight of an old water pump with a cheerful red bucket dangling from it as if it was still in use. Perhaps it was?  
'Oh, Mr Darcy, there you are!' an older woman greeted them with a smile on her face.  
Had she not smiled, Elizabeth was sure she would have looked quite imposing in her stern uniform and with the steely grey hair pulled into a tight bun. But judging by the lines around her eyes and mouth, she usually seemed to smile. Good!  
'Your aunt called and told us that you were probably on the way hither,' the woman's knowledge of their arrival was soon explained. 'She also said something about a wedding, though I did not quite catch the particulars. Is your cousin getting married? And which one? Richard or Anne?'  
'Eh, no, Mrs Reynolds. I am the one who's getting married. - May I introduce you to my betrithed? This is Miss Elizabeth Bennet, soon to be my wife.'  
'Oh?! Well, it was about time.'  
Uh-oh! Elizabeth could literally feel herself going pale. Not again. No repetition of the morning, please.  
'Come, my dear, sit down and have a cup of tea. You do look as if you need one. But the drive up from Kent is a long one, isn't it?' she asked, pulling up a chair. 'I know very well why I rather stay here...'

Okay, no repetition. Thank goodness!  
And indeed, in no time at all, a mug of tea stood before both her and Darcy. Yes, a nice comfy mug, not a frilly cup. Though admittedly the mugs still looked fancier than the ones at home that had all seen better days and were mostly freebies from some or other company.  
'Would you rather eat here in the kitchen or in the dining room, Mr Darcy? Dinner is almost ready and I was just about to call Georgiana.'  
'Here would be fine, wouldn't it, Lizzy?'  
'Perfectly so.'  
This kitchen was indeed so comfortable and welcoming, that it was hard to fathom eating somewhere else. Now it was only the anticipation of meeting Will's sister...

Blast, what a day they'd had! 


	44. Chapter 44 - A miniature Bodleian

_Chapter 44:_

 _A miniature Bodleian_

The girl in her jammies entering the kitchen a moment later looked about as timid as Elizabeth felt herself. Georgiana Darcy was a tall girl, womanly and graceful but her eyes were still that of a child, big, round, bright blue and innocent. Innocent, but not naive, Elizabeth noted. Her features were soft, but there was only the slightest hint of a smile as she looked at her brother in some surprise, and none when she looked at Elizabeth. Her gaze seemed to be wary even. Truth be told, that was a bit unsettling.  
Right, it was so, until Elizabeth remembered why the girl was back here in the first place when she should attend some fancy public school instead of a mere comprehensive in the middle of nowhere.  
'Hi!' Elizabeth said, feeling slightly stupid for not having come up with a more original greeting.  
'Hello,' was consequently all the reply she got from the girl, though the corners of her mouth twitched slightly and her expression relaxed a little.  
Damn, this was where it really mattered to make a good impression, was it not? Yep, and she was about to botch it up. Great!

This would be her sister in a month's time and she didn't even know how to strike up a conversation. Not something she normally suffered from. Blast! Sod's law, as usual.  
'Eh, well, Georgie, this is Lizzy and vice versa, obviously,' Darcy, at last, introduced them. 'I presume you are a little surprised why we are back already, sis?'  
'Naturally. I take it the dancing classes left something to be desired?'  
'Oh, they were okay, I suppose, but our aunt found out that Elizabeth and I are getting married...' he blurted out and all that was missing was his hand covering his mouth in shock at his own blunt revelation.  
'Really?!' his sister almost choked in surprise. 'So, when and how did that happen then? No offence, please, Lizzy, it is just the first time I hear my brother speak of marriage - at least in regards to himself. He's never so much considered getting engaged, you know?'  
She had not known. Damn that blush that crept up her face as she suddenly felt like something special. Kind of, at least.

By the way, thinking of it, she had never considered marrying anyone before as well and here she was...  
'Well, this morning I asked her and she consented.'  
'And? I mean it doesn't exactly explain why you left Rosings, did it? Or did Aunty Catherine find out and threw you out because she doesn't approve?'  
'I wish! Nope, the contrary, actually. She does approve, very much so - and started to plan our wedding straight away...'  
'And then my mother turned up and they began planning together...'  
'In short, it was horrible, Georgie! You cannot imagine all the stuff they came up with within less than an hour...'  
'Yes, where, when, how, what to eat and so forth...'  
'Dear me, you sound positively traumatised!' Georgiana laughed. 'And where are you to have your wedding?'  
'Until they come up with something different, somewhere on a beach in the Caribbean on the sixth of January according to my aunt and Lizzy's mum. I tried to talk her out of it by claiming that there will be hurricanes, but she didn't take the bait, I am afraid.'  
'You know very well that she enjoys watching the news if only to come up with some sort of conspiracy theory of her own once in a while. Last time I spoke to her she said something about Brexit being brought about by the Knights Templar or something. Not that I paid much attention if I'm being honest. Anyway, she'll know that there is little chance of a hurricane in January, Will.'  
'Okay, okay, I should have known, but alas, it was worth a try. Not even the Bermuda Triangle convinced her that it was a bad idea.'  
'Right. I take it, you don't want to get married in the Caribbean?'  
'Nope. As a matter of fact, on our drive here, Lizzy and I've decided to get married in the little chapel here in the park.'  
With a squeal of delight, Georgiana clapped her hands like an enthusiastic child over a new toy: 'That is perfect! And, do you have a date in mind?'  
'Not an exact one, but some time in November. Actually, as soon as is possible.'  
'Eh? Come again? This year?!'  
'Well, it is the only way to avoid our aunt turning the whole thing into a TV-programme and/or have us jump out of a plane for the wedding vows. As said, the Caribbean is not yet decided on, so better be safe than sorry, you know? Before they come up with something even more outragous.'  
'Okay, that does sound frightening. Is it really that bad?'  
Unisono Elizabeth and Darcy replied: 'You have no idea!'  
'And will you manage to get everything done within a month? I don't know much about weddings, but I can imagine it is a lot of planning.'  
'Most of it we did on our way here. The place is sorted, the menu is sorted, time of day is also, just with the date we have to check with the officials first and then we send out the invitations and take care of the accommodation. Not that that will be all that difficult after all there are our holiday homes and I dare doubt there will be many bookings in the hotel at this time of year, plus, it's not as if this house doesn't have a couple of spare bedrooms, either. - And we calculated that we will be at most around fifty people. Nothing too big.'  
'Then just let me know when you need help. What about a dress? Sorry, I know, that's a very girly question.'  
'I've already got one.'  
At first perplexed Georgiana soon enough started laughing until tears brimmed her eyes.  
'What?' Darcy eventually asked.  
'Nothing!'  
'What nothing?'  
'Oh, never mind! - Any particular colour you want me to wear? No white is obvious, but otherwise?'  
'No. Okay, perhaps not all black would be appreciated.'  
"Black looks shite on me anyway and I'm not so much into the vampire-look,' Georgie answered before, with a slight self-deprecating smile she added: 'Not anymore. Edward and Bella are all nice and well, but come on, calling your child Renesmée? No-go! Even though perhaps I shouldn't judge too harshly considering my own family's knack for odd names. But at least they are traditional.'  
'Oh, Lizzy and I had that conversation already and have picked out a couple of names not to give to our children.'  
'Good to know _Fitzwilliam_... - How about a tour of the house, Lizzy?'  
'Oh come now, Georgiana, it is getting late,' Mrs Reynolds, who until now had sat listening in silence occupied with keeping a straight face, interjected in a motherly tone of voice. 'And as it is, I presume there is some luggage to be brought upstairs.'  
There, of course, was. Elizabeth had almost forgotten that pretty much all her belongings were currently stacked in the back of Darcy's car.  
'We could bring them up now and then take a small tour,' Georgiana insisted. 'At least to show Elizabeth where all the important things are, like the kitchen, the larder and the way upstairs. I mean, the house is like a maze. Not so much the front, but seriously, the back of the house is still beyond me and that has to say something.'  
'And why ever not?' the kind housekeeper replied. 'It is not as if you need to know where the old butler's pantry is, or the lamp room. You know the room where once all the lamps were brought to be cleaned and re-filled?"  
'So everything is still there?' Elizabeth asked with some surprise.  
'Yes. Aside from Mrs Reynolds' flat, the servants' quarters are much the same as they were a hundred years ago, just more dusty and silent,' Will answered, seeming somewhat proud. 'I had once played with the thought of building a smaller house in the woods and have the whole of this one made into a museum, but I can't quite bring myself to do so. It would be more practical...'  
'… but he would miss the library,' Georgiana smiled. 'Besides, this is home and it would feel odd not living here. However, I do think that it might be interesting to open up the back of the house to give people a chance to see how it was to be a servant in a house like this.'  
That, Elizabeth could not help but agree, was a very good idea and as tired as she had been only a moment before, she was now actually quite ready to see a little of the place that would soon be her home. Okay, from now on.  
They opted for unloading the car, but storing the majority of stuff in the back of the kitchen for the time being. Only Elizabeth's overnight bag was brought upstairs by Mrs Reynolds, while the rest of them made their way through the seemingly endless corridor once bustling with the servants busy with their errands, and into the main hall.  
It was large and imposing, as was to be expected, rather sparsely furnished and yet surprisingly bright and welcoming, just like the exterior had been. Rosings, by comparison, seemed somewhat over the top, thinking about the painted ceilings alone... - Phew, none of that stuff here. Even though there was plasterwork, it was painted white and that was that, as were all the skirting boards, no matter how intricately they were worked.  
The only thing that seemed a bit out of place was a large black mat in front of the entrance door that reached far into the middle of the room. Since her mother had once, under the protest's of her husband put down a similar mat, Elizabeth knew fair well that it was meant to trap any dirt brought in from outside and not have it spread all over the house. It was the one indication that part of Pemberley was open to visitors.  
There also were a couple of reception rooms, a ballroom, a boudoir, the indeed very formal dining room, a breakfast parlour, Darcy's study, that looked just right and comfy even with the very modern computer sitting on the ancient cherry wood desk and, last but not least, the library.

Wow, it put even her father's substantial collection of books to shame. She could not help staring open-mouthed at the hundreds, nay thousands of volumes all neatly packed into the sheer endless rows of shelves. There was hardly a vacant spot.  
'Hm,' Georgiana mused, 'I think I have an inkling that whenever I am looking for one of you, I know exactly where to go and look first...'  
'And I have to admit that I have another couple of shelves upstairs...' Darcy added sounding slightly embarrassed.  
What?! This place was like a miniature Bodleian, for a private collection it was massive and he had even _more_ books? Wow!  
By the way, speaking of university libraries, she needed to sort out her change to Derby soon.

By the time they reached the upstairs, Elizabeth was knackered and certain that she would not find her way back to the kitchen...  
'So, I'll leave you here then,' Georgiana grinned, opening the door to her room, the one that had been illuminated upon their arrival.  
From what Elizabeth could see, it was a surprisingly modern room, with only the odd old piece of furniture right next to a shelf made of stacked bricks and rough boards, modern art and an IKEA sofa with a couple of cheerful cushions, while the couch table was very obviously an antique as was the most stunning pianoforte she had ever laid eyes on. Oddly enough, the effect of the room was pleasing. Very much so.  
They bid each other good night and while Elizabeth wondered how she could best persuade Darcy to have the rest of the tour on the morrow, she was gently pushed towards another chamber a little further down the corridor without even realising it.  
'Time for bed, my dear,' he whispered into her ear while reaching around her to open the door.  
'Can you read minds?'  
The bedroom was very obviously Darcy's own. It smelled of him, some of his clothes lay neatly folded on a chair and there was also her bag.  
'Hm, I might. Can you read mine?'  
The grin on his face was positively naughty. Okay, she was tired, but not all that much. But a shower was absolutely necessary at this point. There was, after all, a lot of cold sweat to be washed off. 


	45. Chapter 45 - Ice-skating in hell

_Chapter 45:_

 _Ice-skating in hell_

Lizzy was still in the bathroom while he had gone ahead to warm up the bed, - Her side, naturally, to have it all nice and snuggly. Darcy had just turned around and made himself comfortable when his phone rang.

He really should have left it on silent...  
'Hello?'  
'Darcy? Thank goodness! I tried to call you for the last hour or so, ever since Jane got the news that Lizzy has disappeared. I don't know the particulars, but apparently, she just upped and left. I'm just now on my way to Kent to meet up with you. Care to tell me what happened? I mean, she was supposed to be with you, right? Did you have a row or something? Did she wander off? Anyway, she seems to have dropped from the face of the earth. We need to find her, Darcy. _Asap_!'  
Bingley's voice sounded as if it made somersaults so excited was he, one word toppling over the other in an endless stream. Did people not need to breathe anymore? Hm, apparently not.  
'Charles, calm down. We're both at Pemberley. All safe and sound.'  
'WHAT?!'  
'Ouch! Bloody hell, could you please refrain from shouting into my ear?'  
'Sure. Sorry. But shit, have you any idea how worried we were. - That is Jane and I. When Mrs Bennet called Jane she was so beside herself, we could hardly understand her. Yelling something about Lizzy having eloped or something. I know that is ridiculous, right?'  
Okay, deep breath, and then drop the bombshell... - Simple.  
'I'm sorry about the trouble, Charles, but as a matter of fact, Mr Bennet, as well as Mary, Kitty and Lydia know very well where we are.'  
One, two, three - nothing. Bingley was apparently speechless.  
Only after a couple of minutes did he find his voice again, sounding, surprisingly enough, only mildly baffled: 'Really? Okay... - But then why did Mrs Bennet make such a fuss?'  
Presumably, because she alone had not been filled in as yet and for good reason?  
At any rate, thank God Bingley had Caroline for a sister. He was used to accepting weird situations at the drop of a hat and had plenty of experience at that. Monty and his band of misfits had only been one in a long row of peculiar surprises...  
'Dunno,' Darcy shrugged, suppressing a yawn.  
'Ah well, never mind. I'll quickly call Jane then to tell her all is well. She's on a night shift, you know? And then I head back home. Oh, and perhaps Lizzy should call Jane tomorrow morning. Jane tried to get a hold of her, but as yet hasn't managed. Obviously.'  
'I think Lizzy has turned off her phone after we left Longbourn with all her stuff.'  
'Ah, that explains it. Eh, wait a sec... - _All_ her stuff? As in literally _everything_?'  
Okay, there were still things that could surprise Bingley it seemed.  
'Yes.'  
'Eh, what's really going on, mate?'  
'Lizzy and I are getting married in November. By the way, Mr Bennet asks, that in case Jane and you want to marry anytime soon, to please join us, so we can get it over with...'  
'Okay... - WHAT? Oops, sorry, I didn't mean to shout but you are getting married? _You_ , as in Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberley and Elizabeth Bennet of Longbourn?'  
'I just said so, yes. In November. You'll get an invitation as soon as we know the exact date.'  
'Right. I know what I'll be doing tomorrow then.'  
'And that is?'  
'Go ice skating down in hell. Always wanted to do that, but obviously, hell hadn't frozen over then as it obviously has of today.'  
'Ha-ha. - Have fun and be careful that Satan doesn't keep you down there. I've been told he likes his place rather crammed.'  
'Thanks for the advice... - Hey, what a wanker! - Sorry, Darcy, someone just nearly hit me coming out of a driveway without so much as looking left or right. Okay, the number plate fits. You won't believe it, it's actually ID10TS. Idiots!'  
'Oh, I know the man, his name is Sucker. Richard Sucker.'  
On the other end, he could hear Bingley chuckle: 'How do you always come up with that kind of stuff?'  
'In this case I didn't. He and his wife stayed at Pemberley two weeks back. Wait, what are you doing in Oxshott?'  
'Getting lost because I forgot to take my sat nav... - So I take it it's safe to say that he's an actual dick?'  
'Yep, but he has gotten slightly better lately according to his wife. She's already booked another stay at my hotel for early spring.'  
'Right. Okay, he's just stopped and beckons me to pull over.'  
'And?'  
'Oh, I just waved at him with a friendly smile and drove past. He waved back... - Ah, finally a roundabout! Why is it, that there are so many roundabouts in this country unless you desperately want one to turn around?'  
'Why don't you meditate over it? Like on how do you clap with one hand?'  
'Yeah, I'll do just that. Right after calling Jane, going ice skating in hell and planning your stag night. Nighty-night.'  
Hung up. Just like that!

Wait, what? Stag night? Oh no! No, no, no. No stag night for him. Not when it meant a night out with Charles _and_ Fitz.  
'Hey, what's wrong, Will?' Elizabeth's voice sounded up in front of him as he was still staring at the phone in his hand.  
'Your mum called Jane to tell your sister that you had disappeared and now Bingley has set out looking for you. He's back on his way home but he has threatened me with a stag night. Seriously, why do we just have to tell someone we're getting married and all hell breaks loose?'  
'To test our fortitude?'  
'That must be it. Now come, my dear, this bed feels very empty without you in it.'  
And that was nothing but the truth. One night with her beside him, okay admittedly not only that, was enough to make him wish never to sleep without her ever again. Well, it obviously was a wish about to come true. Here they were, engaged to be married in a few weeks, both determined to make the best of things. Of course, there would be the occasional quarrel, yes, he was realistic there, but hey, that was part of life, wasn't it? Even Georgie and he quarrelled occasionally. But then there was always the making up... Ah, and with a wife he could get quite creative there, right?  
While he pondered thus, Lizzy was already falling asleep in his arms, a small smile on her face. So lovely, so sweet. Damn, how could one love someone so very much?  
He didn't find out that night, for he, too, had fallen asleep shortly after. It had been a long day, after all. How was it, so much chaos managed to squeeze itself into one single day? Okay, apparently easily enough when it involved Mrs Bennet and Aunt Catherine... - Oh, and Penny who appeared quite unable to mind his own bloody business.

The next morning dawned to a bright sunshiny autumn day. Perfect for showing Lizzy the grounds. Ha! At least the weather complied to his wishes.  
Right, but first she had to call Jane, and then breakfast might be an idea.

Just like himself, Elizabeth was an early riser and sure enough, while he had been up a quarter of an hour already sneaking about the room without her stirring, when he stepped out of the bathroom, she was just climbing out of bed all dishevelled and lovely, her hair standing in every direction, if such a thing was even possible with its stunning length and thickness. Okay, obviously it was. Proof stood before him.  
'I hope I haven't overslept?' she yawned, stretching herself, which, considering that she wasn't wearing anything, was quite a sight.  
Hm, it wasn't that much of a problem to take his clothes off again, was it? Then again, good things came to those who waited...

Nope, no wait. What a stupid notion? What man could seriously resist his bride standing before him all naked, tempting and sexy beyond belief? Not he, that much was clear. It was actually quite a mystery how he had managed to get out of bed without ravishing her thoroughly when upon opening his eyes they had immediately rested on her sleeping form, the top of her breast just visible from underneath the cover.

Twenty minutes later... - Yep, that was so much better. Now the day could begin in all seriousness.  
'Lizzy, I almost forgot, but can you give your sister a call.'  
'Which one?'  
Of course. Duh! She had four of them, after all.  
'Jane. Your mum called her last night telling her you've gone missing. Bingley was already on his way wanting to pick me up when finally he reached me. No, don't look worried, he said he would call Jane and tell her everything is alright, all is sorted.'  
'Really, all this isn't normal, is it?'  
'Probably not. But you know, your mother loves and cares for you, even though she might be a bit exuberant at times.'  
'A bit? That, Will, is the understatement of the year. I have always known her to be overly enthusiastic, but this is taking the cake. I mean, she's been pestering Jane and me to get married and have a bunch of children ever since we turned eighteen, but this? This exceeds my wildest nightmares.'  
While speaking, Lizzy reached for her phone and pressed Jane's speed dial: 'Hi Jane, it's me. - No, all is well, I swear, Jane. Dad knew where we went, but you know how mum can be when she's excited and believe me, she was exactly that yesterday. - Why? - Jane, are you sitting down? Okay, even better. Will and I are getting married. - What? NO! Of course not. It wasn't even supposed to be that quick, but seriously, if mum's got any more time to plan she'll go completely overboard. And it's not only her! - No, Will's aunt is also throwing in suggestions and nope, no-one has as yet asked us what we want. - What it is we want? A nice quiet wedding among family and close friends. - Yeah, I know, sounds reasonable, right? I think that is the problem. - When? We'll find out tomorrow after we've been to the registrar's office. - Yes, I've got all my papers on me, Kitty and Lydia took care of that. - Yes, they also knew. They helped me make the escape, so to say. By the time Will and I arrived at Longbourn, they had packed all my stuff and off we were. - Yes, Mary, too. - Okay, I think you should sleep now, you do sound tired. Night shift must be a bitch! Talk to you later, sweety. - Bye.'  
So, that was obviously taken care of.

Breakfast was as unceremonious an affair as always, though

under no circumstances would Mrs Reynolds allow anybody to eat cereals unless it was a good old-fashioned porridge. But normally a couple of slices of toast scrambled eggs and bacon, or even simpler, toast and Marmite with an extra layer of honey was more than sufficient to please everybody - alongside a nice cup of scalding hot tea, naturally. Oh, and no baked beans had ever managed to sneak into this kitchen, though unfortunately, he did not get around having them served at the hotel.  
Taking care of some Sandwiches and a Thermos of tea, eventually, they set out to wander around the park, which with the visitors soon to arrive, was always a good idea. Not that they were all that much of a bother, and far and few inbetween at this time of year, but sneaking around in comfy clothes on a weekend was not exactly an option lest one happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Since Elizabeth had not yet unpacked her things, she borrowed Georgiana's wellies and off they went.

It was slightly muddy from the rain the previous week, but the air was nice and fresh and this early in the day the park was all but deserted and by the time the first people would arrive for the day, they would be far to the back of the property, where hardly anybody ever ventured.  
'This place is so beautiful, it's almost surreal,' Elizabeth sighed when they had turned into a walk that led them to the woods, meandering alongside a small river, passing behind the hotel and then into wilder terrain. On their way back, they would pay a visit down at the stables. Elizabeth might not be a horsewoman, yet, but perhaps in time...

And if not, taking a nice long walk was something he could get used to just as well, though sometimes getting around on horseback was just more convenient, especially since his property reached actually far beyond the boundaries of the park.  
It was almost three miles to the chapel he wanted to show her, and an hour later they had finally reached it.

Fortunately, he had thought about bringing the keys, unlike the unfortunate Mr Rushworth in Mansfield Park.  
Okay, the small church was in worse shape than he remembered, but at least the roof was not leaking and the windows were unbroken. But had he thought that Elizabeth was somehow disappointed, at the sight of the flaking paint and dusty benches and floors, he soon found that she was far from it.  
'With a bit of cleaning, this is just perfect, Will. It is small, but we'll make it fit. Do you think the organ still works?' she pointed at the rusty looking pipes that were so covered in cobwebs, Darcy felt almost ashamed for not having come here first to clean a little.  
Then again, in his eagerness, he would have dragged her along this or the other way.  
'I doubt it,' he answered, 'but we could bring down Georgie's electric piano for, believe it or not, this place is actually fitted out with electricity, though I have to say, the fuse box would make any electrician cringe. She never uses that thing anyway, not since we had the old pianoforte restored and tuned. You should ask her to play sometime, the sound is amazing.'  
'I will. - Are these tomb slabs?'  
'Yes. They are hard to decipher nowadays, but they are mainly family.'  
'Then tell me the story of this particular place, Will. I have to say, suddenly it is very easy to understand why you are so interested in history, and how you've come to know so much about it in the process. How come you haven't studied it as a subject? It would have suited you, I'm sure.'  
'So am I, but I had to be practical. I had a business to run, and though I was tempted to go down another path at one point or another, there are quite a few people dependant on me, and I could not let them down.'  
'And so you studied agriculture and business.'  
'Yes. And as you well know, the former is yet another subject that is quite interesting. What about you? Why did you choose biology?'  
'Because it is an interesting topic, of course. Though I have to admit, I am unsure what to do with it, once I have finished uni.'  
'Hm, why don't we set up classes for kids, especially those from town, to show them nature at its finest? And how a farm works, where milk is actually coming from, and how crops are grown.'  
'That, Will, sounds like an actual plan. Though on second thought I have to say that after Friday night, I am not quite sure I have the nerves for it.'  
'Okay, point taken. Then again, you would have the power to throw them out, of course. - So, are we making a list of what has to be done here?'  
'Yep. Cleaning is obvious, as is painting the walls...'  
'Yes, but first the old paint has to be taken off.'  
'Naturally. Varnish the benches, might also be an idea, though I have to say, I like them looking like this.'  
There he had to agree. The stressed wood had some charm to it, but if they were to celebrate their wedding here, they would have to put cushions on the seats so no-one would tear their clothes. Or alternatively they could grind the pews...  
'Do we call in a company, or are we doing the work ourselves?' Elizabeth inquired when they finally decided to leave.  
'What would you prefer?'  
'DIY, actually. It would make it even more personal, don't you think? That is if it won't cause any damage. I presume this building is graded?'  
'Oddly enough, no it isn't. It has been all but forgotten. Which, as said, is the only reason it is still consecrated, I guess.'  
'Well, now it is remembered and will be remembered,' she smiled and off they went stepping back outside and into the cool October air.  
In comparison to Hertfordshire, up here it was already substantially colder, as the winds dropped from the slopes and into the valleys, while the hills threw ever growing shadows the later in the year it got.

Soon they would have their first frost. It would turn the woods into near magical places, as the mist clung to the trees, freezing to intricate patterns that looked like crystals, especially when the sun shone upon them. But as it was, for now, they had to make do with the colour changing leaves, that though still mainly green, showed the first signs of yellow, orange and red.  
Oh, and Darcy quickly marked down a couple of heaters to be put in the church, just in case... 


	46. Chapter 46 - History

_Chapter 46:_

 _History_

They went on in silence for quite a while, but it was not an uncomfortable one, but a companionable calm that after the hubbub of the last couple of days they quite enjoyed.

Wow, wait, had it really been only one and a half days since they had travelled down to Kent for some dancing lessons? Had it really been only yesterday that they got engaged? Yep, no doubt about it. It seemed like a lifetime. Right, that could be misunderstood somehow.

A lifetime in regards to Will and her in the positive sense of meaning and when it came to Lady Catherine and her mother in a, yeah well, negative one. With that being said, or in Elizabeth's case rather thought, she had to admit, however, that yes, she knew both of them meant well. Perhaps a bit too well.

No, decidedly too well...  
Anyway, the tiny church was perfect, even though it needed some fixing up. She had only just helped Jane to make over her flat, so painting the church would be a piece of cake. At least there were no cupboards to take down and not a million pictures to be hung up, no shelves to be attached to the walls, no contrasting colour to apply, no, a lick of white paint was all it needed. Sure, it was considerably higher than Jane's room had been, and they would have to use a ladder, also, they had to take off the flaking paint first, but as said, piece of cake, right? Suddenly Elizabeth felt a little bit nervous at the task before them, but as long as they worked together...  
Casting a side glance at Darcy, she saw him smile back at her.  
'What are you thinking about?' he inquired softly. 'You seemed very deep in thought just now.'  
'Only a bout of nervousness,' she confessed.  
'About marrying me?'  
'No, about getting everything ready on time. We'll start tomorrow straightaway, right?'  
The relief spreading over his face was unmistakable even as it quickly widened to a broad, reassuring smile.  
'If you like. I have riding lessons in the afternoon and we'll need to go into Lambton in the morning to sort out the paperwork, but while in town, we can drop by the shops and get what we need. So even if we don't actually get to work tomorrow, then at least we have everything there the day after.'  
'That is a plan. - Will, do you think your sister likes me?'  
That had been another thing on her mind since the morning. Georgiana had not appeared at breakfast, and she had worried that it was due to her being there.  
'Of course she does. Why?'  
'Well, I don't know. It is just that I really want to become friends with her and that I feel that at the moment I am not doing a very good job at that. I feel as if I'm intruding somehow. I mean, we must have caught her completely off guard...'  
'Not really. I have told her a lot about you. And you do a good job by just being you, you know. If it is any comfort, my sister very clearly likes you and felt comfortable with you there last night, or she wouldn't have said a single word. Georgiana is reserved at the best of times and I know she can appear a bit timid then. You are used to Kitty and Lydia, who are anything but reserved, but Georgiana is very shy. She had trouble at her old school because of it, which is why I brought her back here. Lambton Comprehensive is not a very good school, but at least she's at home, and eventually, she might even make friends.'  
He did sound concerned for his sister, and it was at that moment, that Elizabeth decided to put aside her own fears and reach out to the girl. Apparently, her determined smile told him her innermost thoughts, for he pulled her close and kissed the top of her head, not so much in a fatherly gesture, but an affectionate one. Damn, he was tall...  
'But she didn't come down for breakfast...'  
'Yes, but not because of you but because she likes to sleep in on a Sunday. She barely ever gets up before nine and that would be early for her. So, by that time we were already out of the house.'  
'Okay... - Wow!'  
They had reached yet another magical spot, and it was only now that Elizabeth realised that they had not yet left the woods. Could the park be really that large? Or were the paths just so windy that it appeared as if they were not inside a cultivated landscape, but a huge wild forest? On one side of them was a steep slope with a rill running down it, but where they stood, the ground was almost perfectly flat and right before them, there was a pool of water fed by the tiny tricklet, before, on the other side of the pool it went further down the hill and presumably ended in the stream at the bottom of the valley in which the park lay. A couple of late water lilies blossomed on the pool's surface, sheltered by the large trees surrounding the place and then Elizabeth spotted what looked like the entrance to a natural looking cave.  
'Is this a hermitage?' she blurted out before she could stop herself, immediately feeling stupid.  
She had seen such places in other parks whenever her mother had dragged them to see the one or other place, claiming that she wanted to get some ideas for their own garden. Okay, the garden at Longbourn was more of a park as well, though a very small one, and Mrs Bennet took great pride in it, though nothing surpassed her enthusiasm for her vegetable patch, if only because she entered the Giant Vegetable Competition every year and with ever growing success - pun intended.  
Okay, there Elizabeth needed to correct herself, nothing could surpass Fanny Bennet's enthusiasm for veggies when it came to gardening, not in regards to other topics like babies and marriage...  
'You could say so,' Darcy answered. 'But no, that was one folly my family did not indulge in. However, this is where I went as a boy, whenever I felt the need for solitude.'  
'You chose well. This place is stunning.'  
'It was not when I first came here, but I did my best.'  
' _You_ built that?'  
It didn't look man-made, that much was for sure.  
'I did. There was an old burrow here, a badger had built ages ago. Or at least so my father told me. All I did was dig it out further, just as I did with the pool which then was a mere puddle.'  
'How old were you?'  
'Around twelve. I started when my mother fell ill...' his voice trailed off.  
Damn, what an ungrateful brat she was...  
'Oh Will, here I am constantly complaining about my mother and... - You must miss your parents so very much.'  
'I do,' was all he answered and Elizabeth didn't dig deeper.  
Not now at any rate. He would talk to her once he was ready to do so. For now, she just turned and held him for a while desperately trying not to cry for his loss. His pain was almost palpable.

Here they were, getting married, and while she still had both her parents and several sisters to boot, the man she loved so dearly had but one very close relative. Life really wasn't fair.

Yes, occasionally, she wanted to throttle the one or other of her family, but nope, not really. They were great people to be around, loving, caring, yes, a bit crazy, but always there to help each other out, even though it might not be apparent at first glance. Especially Lydia had made some progress in the last couple of weeks. Actually, the change in her attitude was quite surprising. - And if she thought about it, it was all down to the man in her arms. Had he not insisted on Lydia helping, she would never have discovered the pride that came with some serious graft; the joy of having done something useful, and the appreciation of the people around her.

It had taken one tiny lesson, nothing more than an afternoon, and her youngest sister had finally grown from the baby of the family into a fairly responsible teenager. Okay, she was still incredibly silly, but with her being only fifteen, that was quite alright.  
'So, picnic?' Will asked after a while, with renewed cheerfulness.  
'Please. I have to admit I am quite hungry.'  
'Likewise. Inside or outside?'  
'Hm, I think that tree trunk over there looks very inviting.'  
'It most certainly does. For a tree trunk, that is.'  
'Why, have you encountered any unfriendly tree trunks lately?'  
'Not lately, but I have met several decidedly hostile ones.'  
'When was that then?'  
'Last February, when around Lambton several trees were uprooted due to a heavy storm. Pemberley is fairly sheltered, so we hardly have any problems, even when the gales are thunderous, but Lambton is a bit higher up and this year has really taken its toll on some of the oldest trees in town. There was an old horse chestnut tree right by the old smithy, which is now a fairly decent Chinese restaurant, and it fell. Well, it would have, had we not chopped it off first for safety reasons.'  
'We?'  
'Two of my gardeners and I. With a park like this, we are bound to have the machinery to maintain the woods, so at three in the morning, I got a call, asking for help. No idea who was out and about at this time of night and in a storm like that, but fortunately someone was. By the time we arrived, the tree leaned heavily to one side.'  
'And still it refused to let you fell it?' Elizabeth joked.  
'No, that was alright, But in order to be able to transport it off, we had to cut it right there and then and that was when the trouble started. That tree had been used as a bulletin board for literally centuries and consequently, the trunk was full of old nails, some stuck deep in the wood as over time bark had developed around them. It ruined more than one saw-chain. All in all, it took us thirteen hours and three additional men to move the tree and re-open the road.'  
'Oh dear!'  
'At least the old lady across the road supplied us with endless amounts of tea and a potty, so it was all worth it. And I tell you, she's making the best tea in all of Derbyshire, if not England. - Just don't tell Mrs Reynolds I said that.'  
'I won't. Promise!' Elizabeth laughed.  
'Good. That's some relief. Otherwise, I would never have heard the end of it - or even worse, Mrs Reynolds would have started to try out different ways to make the best tea in the world, while, until she found it, we would have to put up with all the horrible brew she'd produce in the meantime. And I do love my tea!'  
'Spoken like a true Englishman.'  
'Which is some compliment, considering that originally my family stems from France.'  
'What? Really?'  
Why did she feel that he was leading her into a trap? Okay, the corners of his mouth twitched and his eyes twinkled with amusement.  
'Of course,' he smirked. 'So, technically Gloria was not wrong when she called me Mr d'Arcy. The name was just anglicised at one point in history, that's all.'  
'And for how long has your family lived in England?'  
'Since around 1066.'  
Of, bloody, course... - Duh!  
Yes, yes, yes, she had heard of the Norman Conquest, but for some reason, she had never really thought about the fact that so many noble families had names that on closer inspection did not sound very English. De Bourgh was another example, as was Beaufort and various others. Heck, thinking of it, the last time England had been ruled by an actual English king (or queen, for that matter) was also 1066. If she remembered it correctly, the Tudors were originally from Wales and the Stuarts were obviously Scottish while all the others were technically not even British. What an odd thought. Not that it mattered in the least. King John had screwed up so massively that he was forced to sign the Magna Carta and since then no King could rule without a parliament. And nowadays it was this parliament who made all the decisions, so hey. And besides, the Angles had already been invaders taking over from the Romans... Shit, history was one screwed up mess, wasn't it? Anyone up for a nice little party of Game of Thrones?  
'Have I stunned you into silence with my revelation, Lizzy?'  
'No, but your enthusiasm for history seems somewhat contagious, Will. I am even now making a list of things I want to read up on.'  
'Hm, I must consider that a good thing then.'  
'Why?'  
'Because that would be yet another thing we share an interest for.'  
Okay, good point. Funnily enough, history had never much interested her, but suddenly Elizabeth felt quite keen on reading up on a couple of things if only to not look like a complete dolt should the topic stray down this road again sometime in the future.

It was only a slight drizzle that at least made them aware how much time had passed and that perhaps it might be a good idea to go back into the house. Her stuff was still stacked at the back of the kitchen, waiting to be brought upstairs, and though Pemberley was grand and all, the hoover had replaced the chambermaid and the dishwasher its scullery version she seriously did not expect Mrs Reynolds to do so.  
However, when they slipped through the back door and into the kitchen, her belongings were gone and a cheerful Georgiana in a baggy jumper and a pair of denim dungarees sat at the kitchen table with her braided hair in disarray, drinking a cup of tea and munching away on a scone, thickly smothered with clotted cream and jam. That way around, not the other, Elizabeth noted, just like she herself ate them, while Penny, backed up by Aunt Rosie, permanently argued that it should be the other way around. As if it made any difference.  
'Hi!' the young girl greeted them. 'Did you have a nice day?'  
'It was lovely. And what about you?'  
Elizabeth could not help feeling slightly guilty for having left out her soon-to-be-sister, though Georgiana Darcy did not seem in the least offended.  
'It was also great,' she beamed. 'I went for a ride, then drew a little bit and started on my assignment... - By the way, I might need your help there, Will.'  
'What is it about?'  
'History.'  
Not again! However, Georgiana sounded decidedly less interested than her brother at the prospect of having to research and write something about the past.  
'That doesn't help all that much,' Will answered grinning. 'But sure.'  
'Well, the thing is, we can actually choose a topic. And that is the problem, I am not sure what to write about. Napoleonic Wars, Roman Conquest, Cromwell and his cronies, Hundred-Years War...'  
'Didn't you just say that you've already started,' Elizabeth interjected puzzled.  
'I have. I chose a nice green folder and wrote "history assignment" and my name on it...' Georgiana dead-panned, desperately trying to keep her face straight but failing miserably all the same.  
'Sounds like you are really getting somewhere.'  
'Yes. I'm quite proud of myself. Okay, I have to admit that I also created a file on my computer and tried out a couple of fonts to use for the captions, though I have not yet decided which one I'll use. - No, no worries, Comic Sans is not among them, brother dearest. I am beyond that age.'  
'Hm, I am not,' Elizabeth mused. 'I actually quite like it. It's so refreshingly relaxed.'  
'As long as you don't write any notes or signs for the hotel in Comic Sans I'm perfectly fine with it, too.'  
'So that's what's behind it? Not serious enough, or what is the reason you despise that font?'  
'Truth be told, I couldn't care less in what font something is written as long as it's not Wingdings, for obvious reasons, but I actually had a customer complaining about it being used on the menu. The kids' menu that is, not even the normal one. But apparently, bangers and mash in Comic Sans don't taste as nice as ones spelt out in Times New Roman.'  
'Eh...?'  
'My reaction exactly. Anyway, I have now banned Comic Sans from use at the hotel, but it has survived as a running gag.'  
'Well, it _is_ a joke.'  
'Very true,' Georgiana agreed, pushing away her plate. 'By the way, I took the liberty to bring up your boxes. I had just finished when the two of you came in.'  
'Oh... - But they were heavy as heck.'  
'I used a trolley and the dumbwaiter, so it was no bother. They are now all stacked in your dressing room.'  
'Dressing room?'  
Elizabeth was puzzled. Okay, there was another door next to the one leading to the bathroom and another on the other side of the chamber, but after the tour of the rest of the house, she had been too tired to even wonder where they lead to, and this morning they had been otherwise engaged before going down to breakfast and then taking off for their ramble.  
'Eh, yes. The one next to your bathroom.'  
'Ah, the one on the left...'  
'No, it's on the right-hand side.'  
'I could have sworn that there was no door there...'  
'That is because Georgiana is talking of _your_ bedroom, not mine. It's actually a whole suite of rooms. The master's and mistress' bedroom with a bathroom and dressing room each and a small private sitting room in the middle, connecting the bedrooms.'  
Oh...? - Did that mean she was supposed to sleep in her own bedroom or what? Help!  
Help came when Darcy carried on: 'But seriously Georgiana, why would I want to have Lizzy two rooms down from mine? It's not as if my bedroom isn't big enough for both of us. - Unless you would prefer your own room, of course?'  
'Nope.'  
Of course not! Stupid question.


	47. Chapter 47 - Shit!

_Chapter 47:_

 _Shit!_

After dinner, they had retired early. Tomorrow would be a busy day after all, and there were no two ways about it, Elizabeth still had to unpack her things in order to find her papers, which she hoped Kitty and Lydia had thought to pack. She had assured Jane they had, but on second thought... - And thank goodness, they had! The papers now lay neatly on her bedside table. The one in Darcy's bedroom, of course. For though the mistress' chamber was a very lovely room she could not really imagine to ever use it. Okay, perhaps after a quarrel but that, hopefully, would not be a regular occurrence. Well, it most certainly would not. Not if she had any say in it.  
Feeling slightly guilty for leaving her bedroom in a mess, it still was slowly but surely getting too late to do much about it tonight. It was not so much, that she had tons of things, but rather that it needed some figuring out, where what would go.

Her books, her DVDs, her CDs both of which she still had many of, her clothes, all her stuff from uni and the cheap knick-knacks she had gotten from her sisters for either Christmas or her birthday needed to be stored away somewhere. Well, the latter things were the most challenging, while where to put the books was pretty obvious. On one hand, said knick-knacks were mainly fugly as hell and best hidden away for all eternity, like the My Little Pony - thingy she'd got from Lydia for her birthday a couple of years back or the bright pink Playboy Bunny piggy bank she'd received from Kitty. At least Mary had been more practical and had crocheted her a set of pot holders. Brown, orange and pink were perhaps not a particularly good colour-combo, but at least they were useful and obviously could go into the kitchen.  
There was also the naughty apron that made it look as if the wearer was cooking pretty much in the nude and which had been last year's Christmas present from Lydia, that better didn't end up in a place where someone might get to see it. Seriously, the nipple piercings on that thing were a bit disturbing, but at least there was a lacey thong covering the most important bits. The ones she really didn't want to see on something that was meant to protect clothing from getting dirty while cooking.

Oh, why the heck had they packed that little stuffed pig her father had pressed into her hand when she had been ill three weeks ago? Okay, she had to say, it was cute and it was cuddly. Fair enough, it was allowed to stay. And at any rate, there was a scapegoat she could blame this pigsty of a room on. He-he!  
'Eh, Lizzy, what is this?' Darcy inquired, looking warily at the pencil sharpener in his hand.  
Okay, it was not exactly recognisable as such. Another present from Lydia, by the way. Yes, it was useful, and it worked perfectly fine, but whoever thought it a good idea to stuff a sharpening mechanism into a Barbie doll's backside and throw away the head in order to install a crank and then attach the whole apparatus on a polished piece of wood needed some serious therapy. Still, it was the best working pencil sharpener she'd ever had.  
'A pencil sharpener. You stuff the pen there and then...' Elizabeth trailed off, pointing at the crank.  
'Yeah, I get it.'  
'Is it any consolation that it was a present? From Lydia.'  
'It is, oddly enough. Does it work?'  
'Yep. Want to try?' she held up a pencil she had just found in one of her shoes alongside a couple of other pens.  
Sure, where else would someone expect to find stationery?  
'See, easy! Call me Lizzy the Impaler.'  
Shoving the pencil up the sharpeners literal arse she held it out so Will could turn the crank. Or rather, he could have if he hadn't started laughing so hard that tears were streaming down his face and he almost toppled over.  
'As tasteless as this thing is, it is also kind of hilarious,' he eventually gasped, holding his sides.  
Okay, that was indisputable. And it, too, was pretty useful just like the pot holders.  
When she had finally gathered the few things she actually needed right now, such as her slippers for example and perhaps a pair of pyjamas both Darcy and she trudged over to his bedroom to go finally go to sleep. Or at least to go into bed...  
Anyway, what a perfect day it had been! Even with unpacking the boxes. It kind of marked the point where she really had moved into Pemberley never to leave again. Perhaps she should write down the time and date so they could raise a glass of wine every year on this event's anniversary. Yep, she would do just that. Today was the 14th and it was 10:25 pm. So, done!

Monday morning came and for once not too early. At least not for them, Georgiana was very openly of a different opinion. They dropped her off at school and then went on to the registrar's office. All was sorted without much ado, who would have thought? It was almost too easy. And so, barely half an hour later they were back on the street and getting married on November 17th. Perfect!  
The date was exactly four weeks and five days away. That was manageable, even should her mother find out eventually and pitch up on their doorstep. In short it was short enough not to be driven to the brink of insanity and long enough to renovate the chapel and sort out everything else.  
Next stop was at the local parish to speak to the rector there. Also a piece of cake, considering that Darcy and he had known each other for ages and occasionally played chess together.  
Seriously, who said Mondays were horrible? This one was going pretty well especially looking back at the weekend.  
After yet another short stop, this time at Homebase to get some paint and a second sander, they were just on their way back, when the song that had been playing on the radio was interrupted by urgent traffic information: 'We've got a traffic warning for the M 1 northbound. Between Luton and Milton Keynes, there is a tractor pulling a manure spreader reported to be on the motorway. Please drive carefully, the driver seems determined to evade the police, so you never know...'  
Okay, she completely understood why the presenter was giggling, it was like in the clip with the lady calling the radio station about deer crossing signs, simply ridiculous. Surely, this was by far the oddest bit of traffic info she'd ever heard for real. Who the fuck would go onto a motorway with a tractor? And especially one pulling a manure spreader? Whoever it was, the person must surely be nuts or drunk or possibly even both.  
'Let's hope convertible drivers are sensible enough to keep their roofs up...' Darcy remarked snickering.  
'They surely will with all that smell.'  
'Okay, good point. People just don't know the good stuff.'  
'Nope. Why are you stopping here?'  
Darcy had swiftly pulled into the car park of a supermarket as if it had been an afterthought and presumably it was.  
'There is a card shop at that Sainsbury's, that's why. Our wedding is just a little over a month away, and it just occurred to me that perhaps we should send out the invitations within the next couple of days.'  
Yep, perhaps they should. Good point, actually. Nice to know what they would be doing for the rest of the day. - Okay, aside from Darcy giving riding lessons.  
They climbed out of the car and made their way inside the shop. Normally Elizabeth liked to look through the many cards, but there were literally hundreds of cards for weddings alone. Not an easy choice. At least the ones congratulating the newlyweds they could leave out. And there were fortunately not too many when it came to invitations. But...  
What self-respecting couple would choose an invitation with two stuffed bears kissing? Yeah, they were cute, _but_... - But no-one got married in kindergarten, right? Okay, the one with the stick-man bride and groom was even worse and topping it all was the one with the knock-off corpse bride saying yes, not to the dress, that was in tatters, but to Count Dracula by the looks of it. Wasn't one of the deals of marriage "until death do us part"? This card made it look as if you had to die first before being finally happy. Nope, Elizabeth intended to be happy a lot sooner.  
Yeah, finally a plain one with nothing on it but the words: "We are getting married". Perfect! - That is it would have been, if, on closer inspection, it had not been misprinted and actually read "We are getting marred".  
Eh, that was one way of putting it. There was a brutal honesty to this statement that was quite endearing. Okay, not really, but it was wonderfully ironic.  
In the end, they went away with three dozens of cards that had merely "Invitation" written on it, even spelt correctly, and underneath two very glitzy hearts that merged into one. One touch and one had glitter everywhere. She didn't know how she looked herself, but Darcy had already started to turn into a fairy as glitter was in his hair, on his shirt, on his trousers, on his face, hands, - okay, let's make it short - everywhere. Plain was obviously not that much of a thing when it came to weddings.

When half an hour later they had gotten back into the car and Darcy had just turned on the engine again, there was another traffic info interrupting the programme: 'We've got a traffic warning for the M 1 northbound. Between Milton Keynes and Northampton there is manure on the motorway. Please drive carefully, the road surface is somewhat slippery.'  
'No shit?' someone asked in the background apparently before the presenter had been able to turn off the micro.  
'Well, obviously shit,' Darcy laughed. 'I wonder if they managed to get hold of the tractor and more importantly its driver.'  
'Maybe he just pulled the wrong lever. I mean, if I think of our tractor, the lever to turn on the manure spreader and stuff is right next to the winker...'  
Okay, that was a nonsensical statement, more modern tractors had buttons like in a cockpit and older ones a crank next to the gear stick that even the dumbest person could not mistake for the handbrake. Well, okay, perhaps they could, but it was not all that likely. If one wanted to use the handbrake one usually reached down, right? Now their tractor at Longbourn was somewhat of a curiosity in that respect, built at a time when cranks became unfashionable but no-one had as yet thought of buttons, consequently one really had to know which one was the winker and which one the lever to let all hell break loose.

But heck, why did she even waste any time thinking about stuff like that? It was not their tractor on the motorway, so who knew what the driver might be thinking - or not, more like.  
Presumably, it would turn out to be a five-year-old on a joy-ride. Teenagers usually went for the cooler vehicles, if she was any judge of that.  
By the looks of it, Darcy had made a reply that she had completely missed...  
'Sorry, what?'  
'I said that we used to have a tractor like that, too. One of my farmhands managed to lower the plough when still on the road. Well, what shall I say, it now is the smoothest road in a five-mile radius around Pemberley.'  
'Oh dear! But at least your farmhand had not gone for a ride on the motorway.'  
'Nope. Thank goodness. That would have been hard to explain. I doubt that would have been covered by the insurance.'  
'You had that covered? That was some foresight.'  
'Well, not really, it was more a general cover in case some damage was done while driving a tractor or harvester. But just think of all the warning signs that are pointing out the obvious.'  
'Like the "Caution: hot!" when you get a takeaway coffee?'  
'Yep. Or one of my favourites: "Don't put pets in the microwave".'  
'Eh, yes. I wonder when they'll start putting warnings on washing machines and dryers that they are not suitable to clean cats and dogs.'  
'What about bunnies and hamsters?'  
'Very funny.'  
'It would be, only that idiots will assume that if you state that it isn't suitable for cats and dogs, that'll be alright for any other furry creature imaginable. Talking of furry creatures, are you coming down to the stables with me later on? I could give you riding lessons as well.'  
'I need them, huh?'  
'I didn't say that. You looked fine on a horse, but a bit of practice never goes amiss.'  
'No it doesn't and anyway, I'd love to come. At least that means I won't be writing the invitations on my own,' Elizabeth grinned back. 'By the way, I have been wondering, how we get all the people down to the church. I presume it would be a bit far to walk.'  
'Yes, certainly. By car, I'd say. There is an access road not far from there, perhaps a hundred yards or so. Or...' Darcy trailed off with a secretive smile that was bound to rouse her curiosity.  
'Yes?' Elizabeth asked tentatively.  
'Well, there are a couple of old carriages in the shed. I actually rent them out for weddings, and in summer, when the weather is fine, they are exhibited in front of the house.'  
'Oh?'  
'That is if you like the idea.'  
'I do. Positively love it, but you know, I start to wonder what I can contribute to the wedding when you seem to have everything at hand. - Okay, I'll write all the invitations and...'  
'I thought we agreed that we do that together? And then we also have a church to restore and stuff. I am crap at decorations so it would be great if you could take care of the layout of the tables and flowers and such.'  
'Happily. At least now I don't feel quite as useless as a mere minute ago.'  
'That is silly, Lizzy, you are not use... - Oh, is that your phone buzzing?'  
'Yep,' she pulled it out to cast a careful glance at the display. And sure enough: 'Oh no! It's a call from Longbourn. Now, that can only be my mum...'  
There was little use evading the inevitable, yet, it wasn't Fanny Bennet on the other end of the line, it was Lydia. A very excited Lydia.  
'Lizzy? Oh, thank goodness... - Listen, mum found out where you are and she's on her way to Pemberley. I thought I'd warn you. God, I hope she took the train...'  
'Thank you, Lyddy. - What do you mean with you hope she took the train. What's with the car?'  
'Oh, dad's got the car. He's got an appointment for physio and massages and stuff today, but I just came home from school and found a note where the keys should have been. Okay, I don't make much sense, do I?'  
'Not really, Lyddy.'  
'You see, dad left the keys for the tractor for me on the kitchen table because I promised to fertilise the fields when I come back home to help him a little and instead there is just mum's note. Gods Lizzy, keep your fingers crossed that she has just put them back on the hook... - Nope, they are gone.'  
'Is the tractor still there?'  
'I'll go and check!'  
Elizabeth heard a shuffle and her youngest sister panting as she ran down to have a look.  
'Fuck, it's gone! She took the _fucking_ tractor to get to the station. What's wrong with calling a bloody taxi?'  
Elizabeth had a sinking feeling that her mother hadn't gone to the station at all.  
Tentatively she asked: 'Was the dung spreader already hooked on?'  
'Yeah, sure. Why? I'm not all that good driving backwards yet, so dad hooked it on last night. The tractor alone would be bad enough, but can you imagine it standing in the car park with all the smelly shit on a trailer?'  
Was it alright to break into hysterics? Yes? YES?  
'Lizzy? Lizzy, what is the matter?' Lydia all but shouted through the phone, but all Elizabeth could do was laugh maniacally. 


	48. Chapter 48 - All that glitter

_Chapter 48:_

 _All that glitter_

'Lizzy? Lizzy, what is it?' he could not help asking, as she laughed hysterically.  
'My mum,' was all he could discern from her bouts of uncontrollable snorting.  
Okay, it was not all that difficult to put two and two together. There could only be one reason, why she had asked if the dung spreader had been hooked onto the tractor...

Bloody hell, what was it about women wanting to plan weddings? It was not all that difficult, was it? Not if he looked at how Lizzy and he went about it. Then again, they both were what some would call rather pragmatic in their approach and seriously, why not? Yes, sure they could afford a luxurious wedding somewhere abroad, but was that really necessary? As far as he was concerned, the higher the expectations, the more likely that something was bound to go wrong. Perfection was all nice and well, but to expect it at a wedding where so many unknown factors in the form of the people invited were involved, was not very realistic. As far as he could remember he had not been at a single wedding, where not at least one person got so drunk that some kind of accident had occurred.  
Well, at his cousin's wedding, that was his cousin George, Richard's middle brother, which had been planned very meticulously, by the way, the first signs of approaching disaster had appeared and quickly manifested itself, when one of the waiters carrying the eight-tiered wedding cake suddenly stumbled over the mother of the bride's overly excited Yorkshire Terrier. The two men had managed to hold onto the cake, or at least the bottom two layers of it, while the poor pooch had taken refuge under the brides gown only to neatly crap on her silk pumps from sheer fright. Needless to say, that by then, the bride was in tears, the other women present in some state of shock while the groom along with the rest of the men was laughing his head off. The only reason, why the wedding had not turned into an elaborate divorce party there and then had been Anne. Okay, Aunty Catherine still claimed all the credit for what followed, giving her advice left right and centre... - And, after all, it is a truth universally acknowledged that such advice is much more valuable than any practical help, right?

Well, it could have ended there, but alas, then there had been Uncle Charles, fortunately not a relative of his, who, already a bit in his cups by late afternoon, decided to play a little with the children. Yep, that was amiable, no doubt, and he wasn't all that drunk but he nonetheless managed to trap his head between the beams of the bannister on the first-floor landing. No pulling, pushing, wriggling or coaxing did the trick, not even Lady Catherine's advice. In the end, the fire brigade was called, not exactly adding to the festive mood which at this point was somewhat strained already. It came to its breaking point, when after being asked how he had managed to trap his head in the bannister, Uncle Charles performed a re-enactment, so down to the T that he had to be cut out of it a second time.  
Ah well, all those memories...  
But still, why bother planning, when things could go tits up perfectly fine without it? It left so much more room for creativity, while at the same time no expectations were crushed to a pulp.

In ten years or so, looking back at Mrs Bennet spreading manure on the motorway, in all likeliness, would be a cherished anecdote. Darcy already liked it as such. Who else could claim such a determined mother in law? She did nothing by halves, and most certainly never paid a second thought as to the consequences. Yeah, well, admittedly Darcy wasn't sure whether that was a good or bad thing, but never mind.  
Twenty minutes later Elizabeth and he sat at Mrs Reynolds' spotless kitchen table waiting for a cup of tea.

Sure, the first shock was over by now, but a good hot cuppa never went amiss. And as it was, the tea had just been put down in front of them when Lydia called again, telling them, that she and her father were just now on their way to pick up their mother from somewhere north of Northampton. Okay, it seemed that they had made a narrow escape once again. Another couple of days of peace and quiet. Sheer bliss!  
Right, two and a half hours until the riding lessons started, and with that enough time to take care of the invitations, get changed and head down to the stables...

One and a half hours until the riding lessons started and Darcy wondered if he had miscalculated. They had taken some time to decide what to write and how, but that had been the easy part. Doing the actual writing wasn't all that much of a bother either, but by now the glitter-situation had turned somewhat alarming. How was it, that there was still glitter on the cards when Elizabeth and he were virtually covered in it all over? The kitchen table, once spotless, was all glitzy as well. Even Mrs Reynolds had not escaped the glitter of doom, as some had found its way into her hair, onto her apron and onto her shoes and with that, it now slowly but surely spread all over the kitchen. It would only get worse once Lizzy and he got up.

In his mind, Darcy already saw all of Pemberley covered in pink sparkly glitter, and truth be told, the thought was kind of unsettling. Yes, sure, these had been the least obnoxious cards they had managed to find, but perhaps the ones with the bears kissing would have been more beneficial for everyone's sanity. Perhaps they should put some heart-shaped, sparkly confetti into the envelopes as well, to really piss off the recipients. Just for good measure. Why should they be the only ones to suffer from glitteritis?  
'Okay, that's all of them done, thank goodness!' Lizzy sighed half an hour later, looking up with a small smile on her face, wiping a curl of hair out of her eyes, distributing even more glitter onto herself.  
Thank goodness indeed! Darcy could not wait to stuff them into the envelopes and be rid of them.  
Perhaps they should take a quick shower before they took off towards the stables..

However, if he had hoped that the water would wash off the glitter, he was wrong. Of course, he was, this stuff was a menace. On top of that, while before it was easy to brush off, it now firmly stuck to the skin and it _fucking_ itched, particularly between his buttocks and underneath his scrotum, not to mention between his toes, where a whole lot of the stuff had accumulated as the water had washed down his body and for the sake of it, he could not get it off.

Casting a quick glance at Lizzy, he realised he was not the only one suffering from itchy buttocks. Her bum looked as if a fairy had vomited all over it and the more she tried to get it off with her towel the more it seemed to stick. Not that it was much different with him. What the heck had they made the stuff out of? One could fight a war with it, evoking fear in even the fiercest enemy, unless the army happened to be comprised of little girls riding unicorns. Nope, he would not go there, that thought was unsettling. Scary even.  
And at any rate, if they didn't get a move on, they would be late for the lessons, and he hated to be late. Not that Carla or Phil would mind, both were happy enough to just be in the stables, but still he had his principles and punctuality was one of them.  
Sure enough, the two of them were already waiting, Phil Huxley leaning patiently against one of the fences, while his daughter was busy petting one of his ponies.  
'Hello, Mr Darcy, how are you?' the little girl beamed, quickly skipping towards him while at the same time reaching for his hand, dragging him towards the entrance of the stables.  
Eh, itchy...  
Okay, better tell a lie: 'Fine, Carla, and you?'  
Not that he required an answer, he could see that the child was well and happy and bursting at the seams from sheer excitement, just as she always did.

'Carlie, calm down please, will you?' her father reprimanded her gently and while she was still ambling towards the door, she did let go of Darcy's hand. 'Hello, Will, sorry about that, but you know how exuberant she can be.'  
"Not half as exuberant as my soon to be mother in law", Darcy thought to himself.  
'Yep, no bother. It's actually a good thing in this instance. I used to be just the same when it came to riding,' he answered with a grin before his eyes automatically sought out Elizabeth who had fallen slightly behind as he had run ahead to not be later than he was already.  
She had not yet caught up with him. But after they had put on their breeches for the first time it turned out, that the combination of glitter and riding breeches was not a good one at all. Another shower later, and the situation was still not much better and by now, Darcy seriously doubted whether they should dare send the invitations. After all, they were meant for people they liked...  
It was not easy to resist the temptation to scratch his butt and besides, however it had happened, there once again was glitter on his hands, and on his jumper and... - Bloody hell, did the stuff multiply? It would explain a lot.  
'That I can easily believe,' Phil chuckled, as he watched his daughter disappear in the stable. 'Are you okay? You look somewhat tense. Oh, and do you know that you've got glitter all over yourself?'  
'Cheers mate, that was all I wanted to hear. Yes, I _do_ know. I had a little run-in with the stuff. They should actually put warning signs on everything with glitter on or in it as far as I'm concerned. Any ideas on how to avoid having it all over the place?'

After all, the man had a daughter...  
'Nope, it gets everywhere. Ask the father of a girl who's obsessed with glitter glue and sparkle. You should see the contents of my hoover bag. I swear you won't find more sparkly dust anywhere in the country.'  
'Oh, I am sure Pemberley's dust these days will come close. We've been writing invitations with glitter on them and now it's bloody everywhere,' Darcy sighed, against all better judgement trying to brush off some sparkle from his sleeve.  
Needless to say that it was to no avail.  
'Welcome to my world. I have long since decided that every man looks ultimately cooler with glitter on him. It is just that people refuse to agree with me on that one. By the way, before it is too late, the worst thing you can do when you've got the stuff all over yourself is to shower. It ultimately ends up in the most unlikely and uncomfortable crevices of your body. However, it looks charming when you take a dump.'  
'Now that is really some consolation.'  
'Isn't it?' Phil grinned even wider. 'Now, what actually does help is either one of those small vacuums, though it can be a bit awkward to... - Well, never mind, you know what I mean. And otherwise, just take one of those static throw-away dusters. Works miracles.'  
'Well, unfortunately, I just took a shower...'  
'Right, then it's no wonder you look tense, Darcy. We better go and saddle the horses then. Riding is the next best thing to continuously scratching one's arse. And much less embarrassing.'  
Okay, that was actually welcome advice. He was close to losing his marbles from all the blasted itching. But since first meeting Carla and Phil two weeks ago, he had really come to appreciate them, he had to say and he was sure that Lizzy would like them as well. By the way, where _was_ Elizabeth? She should have caught up with him by now.  
Ah, there she and Georgiana were. All the better. His sister didn't know it yet, but she was about to meet the answer to her problematic history assignment.  
Introductions were made, and horses quickly saddled and indeed, the relief was unbelievable. Three cheers to sound advice!  
'Come now, sit straight, Carla, pull your shoulder blades down a bit. Perfect. Oh, and do you remember what is supposed to be the lowest point of your body?'  
'My heels?'  
'Exactly. Turn your toes outwards a bit, yes, that's it. - Same for you, Lizzy. And now, cue your horses into a walk. Perfect, Carla. Lizzy, a little more pressure. Yes, that's it.'  
Ha, all was as it should be. The weather had turned out lovely, his sister and Phil already chatted merrily about the War of the Roses and his two pupils were all eagerness.

Okay, that was until he spotted the first bits of glitter in his horse's mane...  
Seriously, at this point, he started praying, literally praying that they had static dusters somewhere in the house. If not, he would go and get some. And if Lizzy and he ever had a girl, he would make sure that she never even heard of such a thing as glitter. As for the invitations, he would burn them tonight and they would go tomorrow to get the ones with the bears. Period! They invited friends, not deadly enemies, after all.

'Hold still, will you, Will?' Elizabeth reprimanded as she tried to rid him off the glitter.  
Thank goodness, Mrs Reynolds _had_ had some static dusters at hand. They had re-entered the kitchen just when it was beginning to get dark, finding an exasperated Mrs Reynolds desperately trying to get rid of the sparkly menace and just in time to tell her to not shower before wiping herself down with a duster. The look on her face had been priceless, and Georgiana had almost toppled over laughing, but seriously no sooner had he gotten off the horse, than his own bum had started itching again and Elizabeth had looked equally agitated, so it wasn't actually all that funny.

These bloody cards were torture devices of the meanest kind, but he was happy to say that they were no more. As soon as he spotted them lying on the kitchen cupboard, neatly stacked and looking utterly harmless, without a word Darcy had taken them and thrown them into the kitchen stove. While his sister had looked somewhat confused, both Lizzy and his housekeeper had been _very_ approving of his actions.

So, no more sparkle, no more glitter!  
Now Lizzy and he were safely ensconced in their bathroom to wipe off the remaining sparkle and glitter off each other. Was there no fucking escape? Ha, yes there was. It seemed to work. The relief was unbelievable though after having Elizabeth clean a very private part of him, he had to admit that he was in need of another kind of relief. Besides his present physical state apparently made cleaning the area much easier for her, and who was he to deny her touching him? And he just loved to return the favour.  
Hm, perhaps glitter wasn't so bad after all if only one knew how to deal with it and especially what to do with it... 


	49. Chapter 49 - That gruesome cross-thingy

_Chapter 49:_

 _That gruesome cross-thingy_

They had just finished their tea-break and Elizabeth had just climbed back onto the ladder when her mobile rang. Of bloody course. Murphy's law, right? A phone never rang when it was convenient. Never! In all likeliness, it would be her mother coming up with yet another ridiculous idea for their wedding as she had done pretty much every day since she had been informed about the date and venue. As for her finding out that the wedding would take place so much sooner, surprisingly Mrs Bennet had taken it in her stride. Another thing that had been rather fortunate was the fact that she had lost her driver's licence for the time being due to her little stunt on the motorway and several instances of wrong parking, etc. which meant that she would not turn up in person unexpectedly. Ha! Okay, yeah, whether that was such a good thing or perhaps not in regards to losing her licence was another matter, but anyway, the renovations of the chapel came along nicely.  
It was not Fanny Bennet, however, who was on the other end of the line, it was Charlotte. A very panicky Charlotte.  
'Eliza, I am in such a mess, you won't believe it!'  
Nope, Elizabeth believed it in an instant, since her friend sounded positively frantic. Bloody hell, what now?  
'It can't be all that bad, Lottie, I am sure. Has something happened at work?'  
'No, work is all fine, but...'  
'But?'  
'I'm pregnant.'  
Okay, _that_ was unexpected. Plunking down on one of the pews, Elizabeth stared at the phone in her hand accusingly as if it had been playing tricks on her. Charlotte pregnant? Right...  
'By whom?'  
'Penny.'  
Thank goodness she was sitting already. But heck, she could not possibly have heard that right, could she?  
'No, I mean, who is the father? Does he know?'  
'I know what you meant and I gave you the answer. But no, he doesn't know yet. I only found out just now myself and called you straight away. Shit, what am I going to do now?'  
Good question, actually. But wow, when had that happened then? Okay, making an educated guess, Elizabeth put her five Pounds on the Harvest Ball. After all, that had been when Penny had done his Chippendale impersonation. - And if she remembred correctly, Charlotte had said that he didn't look all that bad in the nude, though at the same time adding that she'd rather forget about it. This new bit of info gave this statement a whole new meaning.  
'Well...' Elizabeth started, but nothing came to mind how to help her friend.  
'That is as far as I got myself, Eliza. I don't even know how it could come to this, since we have been careful and everything. At first, I put it down to all the stress with the new job and all. You know, not having my period, but when I started throwing up every morning I thought I'd better do a pregnancy test and it is positive. As positive as it could be. Two sharp lines on that fucking stick and no mistaking it!'  
Oops, her friend started to sound hysterical. Okay, she had every reason to. Being pregnant was one thing, being pregnant by William Collins was an altogether different kettle of fish. One could only hope and pray that the poor child would take after his or her mother. And seriously, everyone had a lapse of reason once in a while. Though admittedly rarely as bad as that.  
'I mean, I have just started this job, Lizzy,' Charlotte carried on. 'What am I going to say to Charles?'  
That presumably was the least of her problems. Breaking the news to her parents on the other hand, or telling Penny that he had managed to procreate...  
Shit, Penny and procreation put in the same sentence sounded decidedly wrong. Even more wrong were the images that popped up in her head of Charlotte and Penny in bed together, fortunately chastely covered by a blanket. But even to imagine what her cousin might say while being at it, was enough to make her feel slightly nauseaous.  
"You know, my dear Charlotte, Lady Catherine always says that a man should take care that a woman is thoroughly pleasu..." - Nope she needed to end this line of thought right now! Okay, it was kind of too late anyway, but this sentence would stay unfinished.  
'Well, Lottie, I dare say, Charles will do nothing more than to congratulate you and make your life as easy as he possibly can.'  
'Yes, I know, but still, it can't be convenient for him, can it?'  
'Probably not. But then again, isn't it always kind of inconvenient? I mean, I am pretty sure that employers calculate on the one or other of their female employees getting knocked up. It is only natural, you know?'  
'Perhaps you are right. It is just the shock, you know?'  
'Yes, that I can easily imagine. By the way, are you coming to my wedding?'  
'Of course, I am. What a stupid question? Oh, by the by, did you know that your mother goes around inviting everyone she meets?'  
What?! No way! Her mother couldn't be serious.  
'My parents are looking forward to it very much, and I think the Kings will come, too. I'm not sure about Monica, but knowing her, she'll probably attend as well.'  
Bloody hell, if her mother carried on like that they were talking a couple of hundred people instead of a nice quiet wedding amongst close family and friends.  
'Are you allright, Eliza?' Charlotte's voice somehow managed it through the daze she was currently in.  
'Yes, perfectly fine. Thanks for giving me a heads-up. That was certainly not what we had planned, you know?'  
'Yes, I was pretty sure of that. So one could say we both had our share of bad surprises today.'  
'Yep, definitely. But anyway, I'm glad you are coming. And perhaps until then, the thing with the baby has sorted itself out.'  
'Now that is not very likely. You know, from now on, my condition will only get the more apparent. Only a couple of more weeks I will be unable to hide it. That's actually kind of unsettling.'  
'Oh, come now, you are not even two months along and you know, time will tell.'  
'I suppose so. For the moment, however, I am properly freaked out. Well, anyway, my break is over, I need to get back to work. Netherfield is coming along nicely, who would have thought?'  
'I would have. Under your care, what could possibly go wrong?'  
'Don't even get me started. Ta-ta!'  
'Bye.'  
For a moment, Elizabeth was just sitting there. Shit, that was a lot to stomach. Charlotte preggers by Penny, her mother inviting basically all of Meryton and Longbourn...

Since it was common knowledge that all 'good' things came in threes, that meant that yet another thing was bound to happen any time now. Okay, it could hardly get any worse or bizarre, right?  
'Are you alright?' Will interrupted her thoughts.  
He, too, had climbed down his ladder, once again looking all dishevelled and sexy. No, the last thing she wanted to think about right now was sex. Not when she had just heard that Charlotte and her cousin had shagged one another and created offspring in the process. Yuck!  
'Yeah, I guess. Mum has invited a couple of more people...'  
His expression mirrored her own as he sank down onto the bench beside her.  
'How many are we talking?' Darcy asked in a strained voice.  
Yeah well, he knew her mother well enough by now to expect the worst, Elizabeth supposed.  
'If only I knew. According to Charlotte, she's inviting pretty much everyone she's meeting. Could be ten more, could be a hundred more. In short, I haven't got the foggiest.'  
'Okay... - I presume there is little chance of finding out?'  
'Nope.'  
'Well, we'll manage.'  
They would have to, she assumed. There was little they could do now without offending anybody, was there? Or even with offending, for that matter, considering that they didn't know whom her mother had invited so generously... - Never mind!  
With a sigh, Elizabeth got up and ascended the ladder again, but somehow the enthusiasm with which she had worked before had left her. What was left was tiredness and an ominous feeling of doom.

Two more weeks of this madness. Two more weeks in which they could not be sure of anything. Not that it would have been any better, had they stuck to their initial plan. Things would still have gone haywire, and it would have been months they would have had to put up with that kind of shit and not mere weeks.  
So, on with the work. This was the last wall they needed to paint, then at least that chore was out of the way. The benches were sanded already as well, and once they were varnished, all that was left to do was clean the church and voilà. Hopefully, that would be by the end of the week.

Suddenly, and with a loud bang, the door was flung open, leaves drifted in as two figures stepped into the room, hardly discernible in the bright autumn light that all but blinded her.  
'Oh, what a lovely old church!' one figure exclaimed, while the other remarked: 'So, I see you are determined to hold your wedding here against all my superior advice.'  
Yep, there now was the as yet missing number three of the bunch of misfortunes in the shape of her mother and Lady Catherine de Bourgh who had just appeared out of thin air. Okay, on the upside, this meant her mother couldn't invite any more people without Will and her knowing, on the downside, it meant their peace of mind from now on up until their wedding was in jeopardy. Okay, fuck peace of mind, it was more a matter of impending insanity.  
'Now, what are you going to do about the walls, Fitzwilliam?'  
'Paint them, as you can see,' was Will's laconic answer, while he held up his paintbrush demonstratively.  
'And what colour do you intend to paint them?'  
'White, obviously.'  
'Just white?'  
'Well, I tried to engage Michelangelo, but he declined, said he was too busy with the Sistine Chapel already.'  
'Don't be silly, the sixteenth chapel has been finished ages ago, as far as I know,' Mrs Bennet chimed in, making Elizabeth cringe and at the same time wonder where the other fifteen chapels were supposed to be.  
'That lying piece of shit!' Darcy sighed with mock exasperation. 'But as it is, now it is too late to do much about it.'  
'It is never too late, Fitzwilliam, and at any rate, we are now here to give you a hand, aren't we Fanny?'  
Her mother nodded vigorously. Not good, so not good at all. Bloody hell, they were even on first name terms already.  
'By the way, you really should clean the place before the wedding.'  
No kidding? Wow, they would never have figured that one out all on their own.  
'And does this... - this... - blast, I can never remember what it's called, you know, this gruesome cross-thingy there. Does it have to hang so prominently right over the altar?' Lady Catherine carried on, pointing at the carved crucifix that dangled somewhat precariously from the ceiling.  
Eh...? - Yes. Elizabeth kind of doubted that a statue of Venus would be very befitting for a church, but she might be wrong there, of course. What did she know? Admittedly she wasn't very religious. But _last time_ she'd checked, a crucifix in a Christian church had been perfectly suitable, quite common even.  
Said crucifix was actually the one thing they had not dared to touch and for which they had a conservator coming in on the morrow, to have it cleaned. Thank goodness there was a company for such things in Derby. The cross' substance looked alright, but it was grimy and seriously, the last thing they needed was to ruin a piece of ancient art by scrubbing it with soap.  
Oh, why was it so quiet all of a sudden?

Nope, both Lady Catherine and her mother were still there, but while the latter was currently trying to pry open the tabernacle, ignoring the key that was actually in the lock where it belonged, her Ladyship's brows were knitted as if she was thinking about something very hard.  
After a couple of minutes, she confidently declared: 'I think yellow would go very nicely with the stained glass windows, but, of course, it would not fit with your pink flower arrangements.'  
'We don't _have_ pink flower arrangements, Aunt Cathy, and anyway, I will not paint the walls yellow!'  
'Oh, we could do that for you,' Mrs Bennet, giving up on opening the small shrine next to the altar, beamed. 'What would look nice as well is doing it but halfway up and put a nice border around the top bit. I have seen a very lovely one at Homebase the other day.'  
'The walls will stay white and that is _final_!' Darcy exploded.  
'But...'  
'No _but_! These walls have always been white and that is how they will stay. No coloured paint, no decorative borders, no frescos, _nothing_ , is that understood?'  
'Well then, have it your way, nephew,' Lady Catherine huffed. 'But you really should do something about that cross-thingy. It is quite off-putting.'  
'And what do you suggest in its stead?'  
'Why not a nice... - eh, something.'  
Now that was helpful...  
'It _stays_!' Darcy once again put his foot down, making her quite proud.  
'But _really_ Fitzwilliam...'  
'What's in that cupboard?' her mother suddenly chimed in.  
'It's a tabernacle, not a cupboard and it normally contains the wine and altar bread for the communion. This one, however, is empty. Both chalice and platter have been lost over time, as far as I know, but I have ordered a new set last night. It should arrive tomorrow.'  
'Where does one order a religious chalice?' Elizabeth could not help asking.  
Was there such a thing as a religious mail-order shop or something? Okay, yeah, possibly.  
'Amazon,' Darcy grinned back at her.  
Okay, that was not the answer she had expected...  
'I also ordered a new bible and some hymn books, for I fully intend to make this a place of worship and retreat again.'  
'What a ridiculous notion, Fitzwilliam. This place is far too quiet for that!'  
Eh...? 


	50. Chapter 50 - Dumbwaiter

_Chapter 50:_

 _Dumbwaiter_

'Now what have you planned for the wedding breakfast, Elizabeth?' Aunt Catherine inquired, changing the subject so abruptly that not only Elizabeth, but also he was taken by complete surprise.  
'Well, we thought about a nice oxtail soup...' Elizabeth stammered, catching his eye.  
'Oxtail soup?' his aunt screeched with a face of sheer horror. 'Who eats oxtail soup these days?'

Eh, his aunt, last time he'd checked...  
'I do,' both he and Elizabeth as well as Mrs Bennet piped up, earning a stern glance each from his aunt.  
'But it's made from _oxtails_ , and you know where those things hang.'  
'Yes, I am fully aware of that, Aunt. By the way, you do eat eggs, don't you?'  
'Of course I eat eggs. What have eggs to do with oxtail soup?'  
'Not much, in all honesty. It is just, you know, where they come from.'  
'They don't dangle in front of a cows backside.'  
'No, but they come out of a chicken's backside and actually a chicken's arsehole serves a dual purpose...'  
'That is disgusting, Fitzwilliam!'  
'Well, you started it. We'll have oxtail soup as a starter.'  
'And then?'  
He was tempted to say cottage pie but perhaps that was stretching it a bit.  
'Roast. Roast lamb, roast pork, roast beef and roast chicken with condiments, vegetable platters and a variety of potato dishes.'  
'That sounds more like a Sunday lunch instead of a fancy wedding breakfast. I see I'll have to take matters into hand.'  
'No, you do not. Everything is sorted. There was no need for you to arrive early.'  
'You, nephew, take this wedding panning far too lightly.'  
Ouch! This had been the second time within an hour she had called him nephew. She never did so unless she was most determined to get her way, emphasizing her superior age, if not necessarily her superior experience, for lack of better arguments.  
Before he knew it, she had leaned heavily against the ladder he had been working on and equally unexpectedly it began to slip a notch, the bucket of paint he had attached to its side using a hook swinging violently. If only the paintbrush did not...  
It did. Fall down that was alongside the fortunateley almost empty can of paint. Both landed on his aunt with a big splash while merely showering the rest of them with few splatters of no consequence.

One, two... - Ah, there it was. Lady Catherine's temper tantrum never lagged far behind.  
'FITZWILLIAM! Look what a mess you've made!'  
Yeah, sure, it was all his fault. But heck, his aunt looked as if a giant bird had crapped on her. And there he had always been glad that cows couldn't fly... - Ah well, never mind.  
'My new coat is ruined!'  
Well, it was fortunate that there was no mirror around, for her hair was actually far worse off than her ugly purple coat. The paint was even somewhat beneficial, if he was any judge of that, for at least white didn't hurt the eyes as much as that bright coloured abomination she had donned. This colour would have looked extreme even on a five-year-old, let alone a woman of well over fifty.  
With some exasperation, however, his aunt reached up to run her fingers through her permed curls and found out anyway. The effect was quite comical in itself as her expression changed from simple indignation to sheer horror, while her actions inevitably led to the paint dripping down her face, making her look like a grotesque harlequin. Suddenly the colour of the coat somehow seemed quite suitable...  
'Do something Fitzwilliam!' Catherine de Bourgh screeched.  
Right, he should have done so from the start, like throwing them out when he'd had the chance, but now it was too late and then there was always the thing that his aunt insisted she was a responsible adult. Just not when it suited her, apparently. It was Elizabeth who reacted first, picking up one of the sheets they had covered the stone floor with, wrapping it around the squirming damsel in distress. And that was all around, head to ankles.  
'Let's get her to the house. It's easiest to get the paint off while it is still wet,' she stated matter of factly, before actually tying a rope around the fairly neat package, just for good measure.  
Well, the sheet had to stay where it was, somehow, unless they wanted to have paint all over the car. It was a practical thought. The effect was that Aunty Cathy now looked like a walking, or rather stumbling rolled-up rug, her classy pumps, bright red, he noted and horribly clashing with the ruined coat, sticking out from underneath the sheet in a charming contrast.  
'Are you alright, Cathy?' Mrs Bennet inquired over and over again, never gaining much more of a reply than an indiscernible mumble.  
Okay, it was hard to speak when you had a sheet in front of your face, but come on, it was not as if she was gagged. There was but one thin layer of fabric in front of her face, nothing more. She would most certainly not suffocate.

Oh, of course, she had to keep her mouth closed if she didn't want the paint to seep into it as well... - Wow, this paint was really multi-purpose, just as it said on the label.  
Yeah, well, the way Aunt Catherine was traipsing around aimlessly wriggling and squirming, though it had something to it, was not of much use with getting her into the car.

Alright, his aunt was fairly sturdy, but he would manage. It was not as if he had never carried a living sheep over his shoulder and they could put up quite a struggle. Peaceful animals my arse!  
One, two and up! Throwing Lady Catherine over his shoulder, Darcy swayed a little, then regained his footing, while Elizabeth dashed to open the doors. The whole exercise would have been a piece of cake if his aunt would just keep still for once in her life. Bloody hell, did she need to make a point of his experience in carrying sheep? Apparently so. Thank goodness there was his car... - neatly parked in by his aunt's, of course.  
That was some achievement, considering that they were in the middle of nowhere and there was lots of space all around. But no, his aunt had to park right behind him trapping him between a couple of trees and her lime green Morris Minor. Okay, just as well, it was unlocked and the keys were lying forlornly on the passenger seat. Typical!  
Ah well, never mind. Indicating to Lizzy to open the back of his aunt's car, he put the still defiant woman down before pushing her into the boot like an obstinate piece of luggage. His aunt mumbled something but he ignored it. Not that it would have been possible to make out what she was saying anyway.  
Why did he think of disposing of bodies right now? Hm, perhaps because a Morris Minor bore some resemblance to a hearse? Seriously, the picture in front of him was downright bizarre. A lime green Morris Minor, red pumps sticking out from a ghostly white sheet, stained with muddy shoe prints, a rope wrapped around the whole, he could only hope and pray that he would not be stopped by the police.

This would be very hard to explain and even when unwrapped, his aunt, in all likeliness would not make it any easier. She never did.  
'Just keep still, will you, Aunt Catherine? We are just driving you over to the house quickly so you can wash the paint off, nothing more,' he, at last, gasped, when he had managed to push her far enough in to be able to close the doors.  
Again nothing but mumbling and a curt nod, which he took as an agreement. Odd. According to Newton's law, the paint could not possibly run into her mouth now. Gravity was a bitch on occasion, especially when a horse was involved, but a reliable one nonetheless.  
Setting the car back, he pulled into the narrow country lane, while Elizabeth and her mother followed in his own automobile. There was no way around using the road leading around the park to get back to Pemberley. It was tricky to manage even with his Landrover, but most certainly impossible with his aunt's rickety old-timer. Not that it wasn't a very nice car if one ignored the colour, but it was not exactly cross-country compatible.

And sure enough... - There never were any police cars around. Never ever. Well, aside from today, that was. The man behind the wheel recognised him, ah yes, he had met him at the pub a couple of times, greeted, but that was that. Phew, thank goodness. As said, it would have been hard to explain why he had his aunt tied up in the back of her own car, but alas, he had been saved. Seemed God was happy with him for re-opening the church. At any rate, Darcy chose to take it as a sign. A good one at that.  
Pemberley came into view a couple of minutes later. Ah, home at last. Safety and a shower!

Okay, fuck safety, not while his aunt was in residence, but at least that still left the shower.  
'Don't ask!' he gasped at Mrs Reynolds as he stumbled over the threshold of the kitchen his aunt flung over his shoulder once again while exasperatedly mumbling to Lady Catherine: 'So, Aunt Cathy, we're almost there."  
His trusted housekeeper only shrugged her shoulders and raised an eyebrow accordingly while he put his load down once again, wiping his brow. Bloody hell, he knew his aunt was not a light-weight, but heck, she must at least weigh fourteen stone, likely more. Some achievement considering she was only around five foot tall. No wonder the ladder had budged under her weight, so did he. There was no way he would be able to carry her all the way upstairs. Even with Elizabeth and Mrs Bennet's help, it would be a struggle.  
So, what now? It was tempting to just leave her there at this point, but he dared doubt that Mrs Reynolds would approve of the wriggling and moaning addition to her spotless kitchen. Right, he needed to be creative. Where was Elizabeth anyway? Hm, never mind, she would turn up sooner or later, he guessed. Ah, the dumbwaiter! Of course.  
Pushing over the kitchen trolley, he put his aunt across it and dashed for the humble looking lift located in the scullery. It was large, it was built to carry heavy loads, it was perfect for the purpose of getting his fairly chubby aunt up to the second floor. Yeah well, it would have been easier if she wouldn't put up that much of a fight, but there was nothing to be done about that now.  
'Don't worry, Aunt Cathy, I get you to a shower in no time. Just keep still, I have to get you into the lift somehow. Careful with your head, yes, that's it!'  
Shit, he was talking to her as if she were an imbecile child...

And why did that little devil in his head feel the need to chime in that he should just cross out the "as if" and "child" from that sentence and it would be spot on, though grammatically incorrect?  
It was a tight fit, and it most certainly was an uncomfortable one, but when there is a will, there is a way, right? Okay, second floor. Perfect.  
Dashing up the stairs Darcy managed to arrive before the dumbwaiter did. A long time before the dumbwaiter did, actually. Hello? Nothing. The thing was stuck just inches away from the opening. Great! What now?

Turn the power off, wait a couple of minutes and then put the fuse back in sometimes worked.

Sometimes, not always. Today was not sometimes. Really, dealing with the police would have been easier. Thanks a bunch. Yes, _you_ Fortuna!  
Well, he had one more ace up his sleeve in the form of Henry Younge before he would have to resort to calling the fire brigade.  
'Henry? Yes, it's me. Can you please come over to the house asap? I have a problem with the dumbwaiter and my aunt is stuck in there...'  
'Eh, come again?'  
'I said, I need your help with the dumbwaiter right now, or better even five minutes ago because my aunt is stuck in there. I know it is your day off, but...'  
There was some muffled snorting on the other end of the line before his mechanic answered: 'Sorry, but I'm in London with the Missus. We've been invited by her sister... - Truth be told not what I consider a nice evening, especially not since that scoundrel of a son of hers is there as well, but I am about four hours away. Perhaps Bob could help, but I'm still training him, so I think it might be better to call 999.'  
Darcy did just that. The last thing he needed was the dumbwaiter being irreparably damaged and yes, Bob was a nice lad and willing to learn, but … - Yeah, well, he was not the brightest bulb in the box. Though at this point he started to doubt his own mental abilities.  
By the way, where the heck was Elizabeth? He could really use a hug right now.

Okay, the boys from the fire brigade were fast, he had to give them that. But then again, Lambton was not Pontypandy where a population of under twenty people kept the fire station more than sufficiently busy, so they presumably had little else to do.  
Well, it was a bit awkward to explain that his aunt was trapped in the dumbwaiter, but then again, it was nothing in comparison to when they actually pulled her out there, still wrapped in her sheet, wriggling and mumbling while still all neatly tied up.

Hm, it was an easy assumption to make that Lizzy was good at wrapping Christmas presents...  
'It is not how it looks, guys,' he began, immediately regretting having said anything.  
Sentences with "it is not how it looks" were never a good idea. Because more often than not it was either exactly how it looked or even worse.  
While he pushed Lady Catherine towards the nearest bathroom, the whole troupe stared at him in sheer bafflement, unmoving and unblinking like a curious herd of cows.  
Okay, he had to try again: 'It is just that my aunt managed to cover herself in paint, face and all...'  
In an attempt to prove his point he at last loosened the rope and pulled off the sheet only for his aunt to immediately start screeching: 'Take that bloody spider away from me and then put the sheet back on before I soil that lovely carpet.!'  
Eh, yes, help occasionally came from the most unexpected of sources, and oddly enough, the paint was still reasonably wet and dripping. Point taken.  
'Oh, and I need to make an appointment at the hairdresser's tomorrow, I guess my perm is ruined,' Aunt Catherine rambled on, her voice once more slightly muffled by the cloth covering her visage.  
Ha, at least that meant she would be out of the way for most of the day tomorrow. So far so good. How many hairdresser's appointments could one squeeze into one week?  
With shaking heads and the one or other chuckle the firemen finally got lost while at long last his aunt was safely ensconced in his bathroom. Yes, it had to be his bathroom that was closest to the bloody dumbwaiter, whose else? A moment later he heard the shower being turned on.  
Really, if this happened in a comedy, he would think it too over the top. Funny, but as said, over the top. But heck, this was real life.

Had his existence always been that much of a mess? Not that he could remember. Everything had been rather boring really with the occasional interruption in the form of Charles or Fitz. But since he got engaged... Well, never mind.  
Okay, but that aside, where the hell was Elizabeth and her mother? 


	51. Chapter 51 - Walk three miles!

_Chapter 51:_

 _Walk three miles?!_

'Why are you not starting the car?' Mrs Bennet inquired making herself comfortable in her soon to be son in law's Landrover.  
'Because I haven't got the keys, Mama.'  
Shit, Darcy always kept them in the ignition, at least when he was on Pemberley's grounds, it was Sod's law that today they were not. The car had been unlocked, sure enough, but the keys were not there. Of bloody course!  
'What do you mean?'  
'That I can't start the car, obviously.'  
Pulling out her mobile, Elizabeth tried to call, but no-one answered.  
'And now?'  
Elizabeth shrugged her shoulders and glanced in the direction in which Darcy had driven away. Well, the obvious was to walk back. Duh! It was not as if it was all that far. Okay, close to three miles, but hey.  
'We'll walk, Mum.'  
'Walk?'  
Bloody hell, her mother made it sound as if they were going to go on pilgrimage to Santiago de Compostella if not further.  
'You want me to walk _all the way_ to Pemberley?'  
Eh, yes? Half of it wouldn't make much sense, would it?  
'On our _own two feet_?'  
Well, her mother could try and walk on her hands if she fancied it that way, but she herself actually preferred it the classical way. Feet, legs one in front of the other until the destination was reached.  
'Mum, it is barely three miles. That's the distance between Longbourn and Netherfield...'  
Okay, judging by the expression on her mother's face, she shouldn't have said that.  
'What? _Three_ miles in all that dirt? We will not be fit to be seen!'  
Okay, it had been raining quite a bit over the last week and the paths were muddy, sure, but not fit to be seen? In her own home? Shit, in two weeks she would be Mrs Darcy. Well no, not shit but hooray! And it was not as if Will hadn't seen her in dirty work clothes before.  
'If it is any consolation, we can stop by the stables and hose ourselves down.'  
'Don't be silly, we'll be soaked if we do that!'  
Oh, really?  
'Then what do you suggest, Mum?'  
'Well, since we are here we could perhaps just carry on painting the walls. Though I still think that you should consider putting up a border. You know, it was really nice looking. Purple and pink with a few flecks of gold.'  
Okay, she would leave it at that for the moment. What point was there arguing? But actually, her mother's suggestion of carrying on the work was not a bad one at all. After all, Will and she had hoped to finish the walls today and seriously, Elizabeth doubted that they would be of any use up at the house. And eventually, Will must figure out that he had the keys in his pocket, right? Well, hopefully...  
Anyway, pushing the door back open they re-entered the ecclesiastical building and began their task.

Thank goodness, they still had the white plastic overalls lying around they had put over their clothes when sanding down the benches. Wood-dust was at least as itchy as glitter, and not any less tricky to get off. Okay, perhaps it was a little easier, but not much.  
Pushing Will's ladder back up against the wall, Elizabeth ascended it, while her mother climbed up the other, less rickety model Elizabeth herself had been using.  
Yep, no-one expected as much, but on occasion, her mother could be quite practical if she chose to, baffling the people left right and centre with her actual skill. Fanny Bennet was by no means a woman who didn't know how to use a paintbrush or how to handle a drill, at least not if she put her mind to it, which admittedly wasn't all that often. Still, thinking about it, she was presumably the only person on this planet who didn't need any instructions to put together IKEA furniture. Then again, both were equally bound to fall apart at any given moment as long as they were not fully assembled and on top of that often missing a screw. Though actually, it was more unsettling if there was an extra screw where no-one knew where it belonged...

'Thinking about it, perhaps green and yellow would look nice as well. What do you say, Lizzy?'  
What the heck was her mother talking about? Flowers, colours for dresses, the glazing of the wedding cake?  
'And I dare say even that cross might look alright with a bit of white paint and a couple of artificial flowers instead of that haggard looking figure they strapped to it. They could at least have attempted to make him look less suffering, it would make it look a lot more cheerful.'  
'Mum, this haggard looking figure is Jesus and he _died_ for us on the cross to take away our sins he has every right to look as if he is suffering, because he is.'  
'Yes, yes, I know. But it still isn't very tasteful, is it? I always wondered why they could not put up something more cheerful like Baby-Jesus in his manger or him preaching to the children.'  
Right, where even to begin? At least her mother's arguments were not quite as nonsensical as she had feared at first, that was something. Still...  
'He will stay. It's his home, after all,' Elizabeth at least replied.  
'I thought the church was Fitzwilliam's...'  
Why, oh why could they not just paint in silence?  
'So, I'll go to Homebase tomorrow and get that border then. The green one I mean,' Mrs Bennet continued, changing the subject while climbing down to move the ladder a little further along the wall.

There was no point replying so Elizabeth didn't.

Just about three more meters to go and they were finished. Where the heck was Will? Surely he must have realised by now that she had not followed him home.  
'What colour are you painting the benches?' her mother interrupted her musings once again.  
'We'll just varnish them, nothing more.'  
'Perhaps I can find a pretty colour that goes with the border...'  
What?! Not _again_! She really had hoped that with not saying anything, the subject would be over and hopefully forgotten, but obviously she had been wrong.  
'There will be NO border, Mama!'  
'But the walls do look dreadfully plain...'  
Leaning back a little, and making Elizabeth almost fear that her mother would fall over, Mrs Bennet took a critical glance at the wall, then nodded to herself and began painting again. Right, that now was truly unsettling. As ridiculous her mother's ideas were and how tedious it was listening to them, it was the times when she didn't share them when it got downright dangerous. Not knowing what her mother was up to was never a good thing. The baby-purchases and the tractor-incident were sufficient proof of that, not to mention all the people she had invited without Will and her knowledge. By the way, she should ask her mother at one point whom she had told to come, but most certainly not while she herself was standing on a ladder. That could be disastrous. Heights and nervous break-downs didn't go well together, after all. And she had every reason to fear the worst.  
'How do you intend to get the cobwebs from the beams, Lizzy?'  
'Either a hoover or a duster. Why?'  
'Oh, I just cleaned the garden shed and the leaf blower really worked a treat. All you have to do is blow the dust off the rafters and then you can easily wipe everything clean and sweep it together. It's also great for places that are just that little bit too high up to reach.'  
Okay, that was actually sound advice for once. It was sometimes easy to forget that while being excessively silly, her mother was also the person who looked after their garden at home, who cleaned most of the house, who cooked and baked and made preserves, hung up the pictures and so forth.

Suddenly Elizabeth felt slightly ashamed of herself. But heck, her mother didn't make it easy to take her seriously, did she?  
That aside, where the fuck was Will? It had been two hours now and it was slowly but surely beginning to get dark and there was still no sign of him anywhere. Hello? Hopefully, nothing had happened on the way and his aunt was alright. At one point she had almost been sure to have heard some sirens some way in the distance...

Please, let everything be alright! What if there had been an accident? Nope, better not think about that. All would be well eventually and it was not all that late yet.

Half an hour later and all the walls were finally a pristine white. Checking the time on her mobile, Elizabeth decided to call Will again. Yep, no surprise there, the phone was ringing right next to her. It explained a lot. For example why he had neither called back nor answered earlier on. So much for technology. Well, perhaps she could reach Georgiana... - Nope, only the mailbox after the fifth ring. Mrs Reynolds' number she hadn't yet saved on her phone, the Younge's she knew where in London, and since it had proven to be more complicated than simply using a mobile, Will had, with the exception of the hotel, of course, the telephone system uninstalled a couple of years back. What option was left? Perhaps she should send him a postcard. Or was there still a telegram service? Okay, even if there was, she didn't know the number, so there was no point wondering.  
So, walking was definitely in order, it seemed. Great, it had started to rain again and dusk had set in, which with them being in the middle of the woods meant that it was near pitch dark already. Shit!  
It wouldn't be so bad if she had not only walked this path once and if Darcy and she had not taken a detour then... - Okay, they could make it. The park was large, but not all that large, right?

Forty minutes later and Elizabeth had no idea if she was even still on Pemberley's grounds. Swell!  
'Are we there yet?' her mother asked for what seemed like the millionth time.  
'No.'  
'Is it still far?'  
Fuck, was it?  
'Eh, no.'  
Okay, it was a shot in the dark, literally, but admitting the truth would only result in a panic. Not that she herself didn't feel slightly panicky by now. On top of that, her mother seemed to think this to be the perfect moment to confess that she really needed to take a wee. Right, not that much of a problem in a forest with plenty of trees to squat behind without needing to fear an audience.  
It did, however, take a little bit of persuasion until her mother finally thought it safe to go in the great wide open, choosing to dive through the dense hedge to their left, obviously stepping into a puddle, judging by the splash and the subsequent cursing and a couple of minutes and a tinkle later...  
'Lizzy, I'm stuck in the mud!'  
Great! Absolutely perfect!  
The scene unfolding before her, though slightly blurred by

the darkness was a novel one. There her mother stood with only her knickers up again, while her trousers seemed to have gotten trapped underneath her feet. Fuck, how was that even possible? Okay, she didn't really want to know, if she was honest. But did she imagine it, or was that the road right behind them? Nope, no imagination, it was and there was a car coming. Perfect timing one could say, though her mother would probably disagree. But seriously, she was knackered, hungry and it was getting increasingly colder.  
Stepping up to the road, though at the same time taking care that she would not get into the car's way should the driver overlook her, Elizabeth waved frantically to stop the vehicle. The old Morris Minor slowed down and stopped. Thank Heavens, it did and even more that it was a well-known figure who climbed out of it.  
'Lizzy? Oh, thank goodness. Where the heck have you been?' Will asked, his voice full of relief.  
'At the church. You took the keys.'  
For a moment, Will stared at her thoroughly perplexed before reaching into his pocket to indeed produce the keys to his own car.  
'Oh, and while you took your keys, you left your mobile as a substitute.'  
'Yep, I figured that one out eventually. Shit, you had me scared when you didn't pitch up. I was close to calling the police. Not that I hadn't had my share of their company today already.'  
Oh?  
'Why did you not come down to the church?'  
'Well, that is where I am coming from just now. Sorry, it took me so long, but first, there was a little incident with the dumbwaiter and I had to call the fire brigade and then the police pitched up on my doorstep because one of the three bloody hotel guests rambling around the park had seen me carrying what looked like a dead body. And there I had been thinking that I had gotten away unseen when I came across a police car earlier on. It did take some time to clear things up, or otherwise, I would have been down a lot sooner.'  
Oh!  
'Never mind, Will. It sounds like you had your hands full. And we are actually fine, though admittedly we were a bit lost... - How is your aunt?'  
'Taking another shower after demonstrating to the police how she was wrapped up, bless her. It was not one of her best ideas to actually use the sheet still covered in paint, but hey, at least it did wash off eventually, though her perm is ruined. So, let's go. Where is your mum?'  
He glanced around though with the headlights on, Mrs Bennet was well hidden in the shadows.  
'Eh, well, she is right next to that bush, stuck in the mud...' Elizabeth pointed in the respective direction.  
If Darcy, upon helping her mother out of her predicament was wondering how it had come to this, he didn't show it, and as for her mother, she was mortified enough to keep her gob shut. Good.

Elizabeth had not realised it before, but seriously, she was close to fainting. Not literally, of course, but she was tired to the bone. Why the heck was she so knackered every single evening of late? It was not as if she wasn't used to hard physical labour. Well, never mind. And anyway, two seconds after climbing into the car she had passed out.

Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzz... 


	52. Chapter 52 - Isn't that cute?

_Chapter 52:_

 _Isn't that cute?_

Okay, his aunt was safely at the hairdresser's, Mrs Bennet had gone with her, Georgiana was at school and Lizzy and he were once more busy down at the chapel, varnishing the benches. Seriously, autumn was the perfect time for getting married at least for a man like him. Not much to do around the fields and stables, not much to do at the hotel, the holiday homes were all closed up, in short, it was as quiet as it could possibly get around Pemberley. Autumn had always been his favourite time of year anyway. Not that he didn't like the other seasons as well, but hey, each their own, right?  
Glancing over at Elizabeth he could not help smiling. She did look wonderfully dishevelled and highly concentrated all the while humming a cheerful tune painting the bench before her. Well, she did have a good singing voice. They really should sing together more often, though preferably not during a bloody karaoke-competition.  
'Is something the matter, Will?' she asked eventually when he had been unable to take his eyes off of her for several minutes, daydreaming.  
'Nope, everything is just dandy. I was just admiring you, that is all.'  
'Admiring me? Yeah, very likely. I guess I look like a scarecrow.'  
'Yep, a very cute one. One that I love with all my heart.'  
She started laughing where many a woman presumably would have frowned.  
'Hm, that is a singular compliment, my dear. But hey, what woman wouldn't like to be called cute scarecrow? It's certainly a lot better than the term sex bomb.'  
'You think so?'  
'Definitely. A scarecrow has its merits, while a bomb is nothing but destructive, no matter how sexy it is.'  
'I have to admit, I never thought about that. I guess you do have a point there, Lizzy.'  
'On occasion, even I have that. - By the way, when is the conservator coming?'  
'Anytime now. - Eh, right now, it seems.'  
Unless... - Yep, it was his aunt and Mrs Bennet, not Mr Brown. Since when did a perm take so little time, especially without an appointment? Seriously, he had hoped that it would take at least all morning and now _that_! Not even three hours later and his aunt was back, not with a perm, but with bright red hair. Well, at least the plain pixie-cut was an improvement. Not all that much, admittedly, but still. At least she didn't remind him of an inflated poodle any longer.  
'Surprise!' Mrs Bennet beamed, pushing her way past her new BFF, carrying what seemed like a couple of rolls of... - Okay, no, that couldn't be borders. The rolls were too large for that. But then what was it? Posters?  
'What do you say, isn't that cute as a wedding decor?'  
Yep, they were posters. And the one she currently held up sported two swans in pinkish light on a purple lake with the moon setting behind them. And yes, one could say it was cute if a nauseant could ever be called such.  
'Eh, Mum, why did you buy these posters?'  
'Well, you said you didn't want coloured paint or a border, so I thought I go and have a look whether I might find a couple of nice romantic pictures to counterbalance the sombreness of the church...'  
'Mum, Will and I actually like this sombreness.'  
Yep, decidedly.

Not that her mother gave three straws about their opinions. Nope, she was currently unrolling another of the posters. This time it depicted a half-naked couple standing in some sort of rainbow coloured halo. He really had no idea these abominations could still be purchased. Yes, in the nineties they had been kind of cool, but he had been a nipper then. It was excusable that he'd liked bright pictures back then. Kind of. And at least he never had anything with tacky hearts on them, or people kissing – that was for girls. Ewwww! By the way, where were the dolphins? There must be some dolphins on one of these posters, right? Yep, sure enough there they were.  
Mrs Bennet, with a bright undeterred mien, ignoring her daughter's and future son in law's incredulous expressions unrolled yet another picture - two dolphins in front of a coral reef with little hearts instead of air bubbles escaping from their blowholes. The remaining three were equally tacky. The only way one could make them work was if one put them up the wrong way, meaning with the actual picture towards the wall, not upside down. The back was actually quite nice. A very decorative glossy white...  
'So, where do you want me to hang them?'  
He had not meant to say it, but it just slipped: 'The old hanging tree?'  
'Now really, Fitzwilliam, you do need to put up a couple of pictures, and this was the best we could find on such short notice.'  
What frickin' notice?  
'Aunt Cathy, this is a church, for Heaven's sake!'  
'But don't you want your wedding to be glamorous? Something people will talk about for years?'  
With pictures like this hanging in the church, they most certainly would talk about it for years but for all the wrong reasons.  
'No, I want a peaceful quiet no-fuss wedding with close friends and family. Nothing more and nothing less. I want the church just as it is now, with unadorned walls and muted colours and a nice come together afterwards. Good but simple food, a relaxed atmosphere, no stress. Easy. Simple.'  
'So you are determined to leave that... - Darn, I can never remember the word! What a crux. You know, that cross-thingy with Jesus on it? You really want to keep it? I still think it unsuitable for a wedding.'  
'Yes, I want to keep the _crucifix_ exactly where it is and as a matter of fact, we are currently waiting for someone to restore it to all its glory.'  
'You cannot be serious!'  
'I am dead serious. And speaking about Mr Brown, I think I should call him. He probably got lost.'

Mr Brown, the conservator, had indeed taken a wrong turn and had found himself in Matlock instead of Pemberley, but hey, that could happen easily enough with such winding country lanes and insufficient road signs. And at any rate, half an hour later the man was finally there.  
'What an amazing piece of art!' he exclaimed, earning a huff from Lady Catherine. 'And it is in good condition, you were right. However, if you want to have it restored properly, it would still take me about a month. Cleaning these sort of things is not easy.'  
Okay, he should have thought about that beforehand. But if his aunt now thought she had won the battle, she could think again. Ha!  
'Okay, then I tell you what, Mr Brown, we'll leave it as it is for the moment, and I'll bring it down to you in three weeks. If only you could perhaps dust it off a little...'  
'Sure. I brought everything with me. You know, so you know in the future, best for dusting off the nooks and crannies is compressed air. You know these little tins you get for cleaning computer keyboards? That stuff is what I'm talking about. - I perhaps should not give away my professional secrets, but I rather have art preserved than restored.'  
The man grinned broadly and then went to work. Good, at least one person who appreciated tradition and art.  
Eh, what? When had that happened? Seriously, Elizabeth and he had their backs turned but a moment and there now was a fucking bride riding on a unicorn on the wall...  
'See, I just wanted to show you how nice it would look,' Mrs Bennet smiled triumphantly.  
Shit, he needed to find something for her to do. Something that kept her away from town and the chapel. But what? Ah, he had an idea.

The napkins needed ironing again from having been stored in the closet and then folding, obviously. He had intended to ask his hotel staff to take care of that, but hey, Mrs Bennet needn't know that, right? So, now he only had to come up with the most complicated and elaborate folding method imaginable. Hm, how about the water lily? Always looked nice and took forever. And since Mrs Bennet had invited several more people, hm, let's say two hundred for the wedding breakfast, two hundred for tea, and two hundred for supper were required. At least...

Anyway six hundred napkins should keep her busy for a while. One thing sorted.  
But what to do about Aunt Catherine? While Mrs Bennet might be silly to put it politely, she astonishingly enough seemed to have some practical talent. His aunt hadn't. Oh, but she could write. Well, he would ask her to write a menu for each of the guests. After all, handwritten menus were much posher than printed ones, particularly if one used a dipping pen...  
'Now, I see, you finally come to your senses, Fitzwilliam,' was Lady Catherine's triumphant reply when he approached her with his request.  
And while Lizzy and Mr Brown carried on working, he escorted the two ladies back to the house, provided them with everything they could possibly need, informed Mrs Reynolds about the goings-on, and then hurried back.

Ah, that felt good. Now he only needed to get rid of the posters and... - Ah, Mr Brown had obviously found some use for them, as he had put the crucifix on top of two of them, using the altar as a work table, carefully brushing off some grime. Perfect! Things were going well again.

When they returned in the late afternoon, they found Phil, Carla and Georgiana sitting at the kitchen table, working on his sister's assignment, Mrs Reynolds preparing dinner and Mrs Bennet in the laundry room, still ironing. By the looks of it, that alone would take her at least another hour or two. His aunt, however, was nowhere to be found. Okay, study? Nope. Library? Nope. Morning room? Salon? Parlour? Her bedroom? Nope, nope, nope again. Where the fuck was she?  
Oh shit, her car was gone as well. Seriously? What was that woman up to now? Half an hour later he had his answer.  
'You know, Fitzwilliam, the paper was all nice and well, but I thought that a menu always looks so much better when put into a card and I found some really nice ones at Hallmark's. Look, aren't they lovely? Look, all nice and sparkly.'  
Was it okay for a man to faint? Or at the very least start screaming hysterically? Yes? Okay, no, it wasn't. Shit!  
But really, he was certain that the colour had drained from his face at seeing the cards his aunt had purchased. Plain white ones with two glittery hearts... - Yep, she had managed to get the exact same ones he had burnt two weeks ago. The ones that had tried Elizabeth's, his and everybody else's sanity to near breaking point. Seriously, his riding breeches, despite having been washed a couple of times now, still sported the odd sparkle and now _this_!  
What the fuck had he done to deserve this? Yes, he had his faults, but come on, they were not all that bad! Not really. At the very least he should get some credit for trying hard to be a good man. Wasn't that customary at schools nowadays? Getting credits for trying? He was pretty sure it was. But obviously, once one was grown up, that didn't apply anymore. No brownie points for effort. Of course not.  
And now his aunt scampered off towards the laundry room of all places to show Fanny Bennet. Well, why shouldn't they have sparkly napkins on their wedding day? For that matter, why shouldn't they have glittery guests? Why shouldn't the guests have glittery cars afterwards? And glittery beds? Not to speak about possible itchy bottoms, as long as they glittered.  
In his mind, Darcy already pictured the photographs of their wedding day, particularly the ones taken later in the evening, with their guests' faces contorted and one hand scratching the one or other body part while the other desperately clutched a glass of sparkly wine. Pun intended.  
Instead of thank you-cards, they would have to write apologies, unless, in the future, he wanted to answer the question of whether he had any enemies with a decided "yes".  
On the other hand, they could always hand out some prophylactic throwaway static dusters instead of chocolates...


	53. Chapter 53 - Nerves, right?

_Chapter 53:_

 _Nerves, right?_

'Seriously, Will, if you were a girl I would guess you are pregnant,' Elizabeth laughed, before compassionately handing him a towel and a glass of mouthwash.  
Okay, she had a point, if it were _her_ throwing up every single morning for a week, he would insist on a pregnancy test, but as it was, last time he checked, he had been very decidedly male and with equal certainty not a seahorse. One Willy, two balls all in perfect working order, nothing dodgy there.  
Nerves, it surely must be nerves, right?

Well, with his aunt and Mrs Bennet around, that was only a natural reaction. Though oddly enough, giving them something to do, had proven to be a good strategy. And even the glitter invasion had been fought off in no time and to everybody's satisfaction.  
'Oh, yes, they are pretty, Cathy,' Mrs Bennet had said upon first seeing the cards only to then have something like a minor nervous breakdown when she became aware of the fact that slowly but surely glitter crept onto her neatly ironed napkins to make itself comfortable there and for some duration.  
'Blast, this stuff is getting everywhere! Now thank goodness I had five daughters and know exactly how to deal with this kind of problem,' she had exclaimed with a resoluteness that neither he nor Lizzy had felt at that very moment.  
'Okay? Really? How?' both of them had stammered in unison.  
'All you have to do is put a thin layer of hairspray over it and the stuff stays where it's supposed to. My youngest once got a book from her godmother that drove me insane, but hairspray worked a treat. Now I only have to put these napkins into the dryer for a couple of minutes and the sparkle should be blown out again...'  
Eh, yes... - Truth be told, it had sounded too easy, but oddly enough, Mrs Bennet had been perfectly correct, the glitter stayed firmly on the cards just as it was supposed to, the napkins, in turn, were glitter free after a little tumble in the barely used dryer. Wow! After all, they would not acquire lasting enemies it appeared. That was something.  
On top of that, the posters Mrs Bennet had bought had actually served a good purpose as a place to put the paint buckets and brushes, and thankfully were now thoroughly ruined. Thank goodness.

Once the pews had been varnished and the electric piano, as well as the heater, had been brought down, the church door had been securely locked and the key was now well hidden away, just in case. Better be safe than sorry... - Yes, they had considered armed guards and dog patrols, but that, perhaps, was a bit over the top.  
The goblet had also arrived a couple of days since, as had the hymn books and the leather-bound bible. Lady Catherine, still slightly disgruntled over the location, had been somewhat appeased by having been allowed to order a couple of cushions for the benches, under the watchful eye of her nephew that was who incidentally changed their colour from bright purple to a more sombre green just before checking out without his aunty noticing.  
Okay, so far all was well. If only...

Bah, had the coffee his aunt insisted on drinking early in the morning always smelled this horrible? Putting down his spoon without having touched the porridge in front of him, he once again dashed off, hoping that he would reach the nearest loo in time. This was beginning to get silly. Every single morning it was the same and it only seemed to get worse. The only consolation was, that come lunch his stomach was back under control until the next morning. But hey, it could be worse, right?  
'Are you okay?' Elizabeth asked as soon as he returned to the kitchen, still feeling queasy and with a lingering after-taste in his mouth.  
Darcy only nodded, pushing his chair a little further away from his aunt and her accursed coffee.  
Lady Catherine herself was much less concerned: 'Nerves, that is all, Fitzwilliam. Men are ninnies when it comes to getting married. I haven't seen one that has not gotten cold feet sooner or later. Not that it meant they escaped their fate, mind. But they all suffered from nerves, I tell you.'  
That was one way of putting it. Sure, he was a nervous wreck while she hardly even looked up from The Daily Mail she was reading over breakfast while using his Telegraph as a placemat. Cheers! But actually he was more and more looking forward to getting married and for three reasons the positive one presently holding his hand with compassion while the other two sat across from him, picking up the same old subject of wedding-planning once again. It was unnerving to say the least.  
Okay, so yes, it was nerves, just not like his aunt had put it. It was the strain that mainly her constant antics brought about, though since keeping her busy, it had gotten slightly better. On the other hand, that meant he had to keep both Lady Catherine and Mrs Bennet reasonably occupied and in regards to his aunt, that was not quite as easy as with his soon to be mother in law. Mrs Bennet was pretty practical, he really had to give her that, changing sheets, air rooms, dust, vacuum. No probs at all. Aside from the occasional dumb suggestion that could easily be brushed aside with some more chores all went astonishingly well in that quarter.  
But Aunty Cathy was an altogether different matter...

Once she was done with writing the menus, she quickly began rummaging around the house, pushing sofas around randomly until they were placed in a manner that was best suited to bump into them at regular intervals; re-draping curtains, which was perhaps the least annoying of her actions; and shuffling pictures as she pleased, which ended with the main hall temporarily sporting a pair of poodles above the fireplace instead of the painting of the old manor house that once stood in Pemberley House's place and opposite it a basket full of kittens grinned back at him instead of a contemporary image of the house and so forth. In short, it was an endless source of unpleasant surprises.  
Oh, speaking of surprises and paintings, he still had not found out from which part of the house she had managed to sneak the picture of a very nude and lascivious Leda being romped by Zeus in the shape of a swan that now hung over his bed. Yes, it was a decent piece of art and all that, at least if one ignored the overall theme and the fact that it was one of those insinuating mid-Georgian atrocities, but seriously, he preferred the unassuming and most and for all neutral still life that had hung there until three days ago. Or at least that was when he had realised that the initial painting was gone. Another thing he had, as yet not been able to trace down. Great!  
Even greater was that two days from now, Fitz and Charles would arrive.

Darcy had hoped to get out of it, but apparently, there was no escape from stag night for him. Not if his cousin and best friend had any say in it. And as it was, they had decided that they had. Bollocks!  
Yawning Elizabeth got up from the breakfast table. Poor lass, she looked knackered. But she was determined to help as best as she could despite her near constant exhaustion these days and today they would set up the dining room for the wedding breakfast which meant bringing over a shit-load of tables and chairs from the hotel as well as plates, glasses and cutlery. In the rain, naturally. It always rained when least convenient.  
'Lizzy, perhaps you should take a rest before you get ill again,' Darcy could not help suggesting when they went to put on their boots.  
'Says the one who's throwing up every morning. I'm fine, Will. I guess it's just the change of weather. Jane has always suffered from it since she was little, though I, as yet, have been lucky to escape this curse. - Well, apparently no longer. But hey, at least once the weather has changed, all will be well.'  
'Good to know.'  
Okay, he would leave it at that. And she did have a point. Besides, if he was stressed out enough to vomit daily at dawn, by now, she most certainly was as well, right?  
Walking down through the persistent drizzle over to the farm was both beneficial for settling his stomach as well as to clear his mind. Four days and Elizabeth Bennet would become Elizabeth Darcy. Four days with lots to prepare and lots of potential for disaster. Ah, at least Mrs Younge had already taken care of the trailer... - Eh, who the heck was that?

He knew that chap, of that Darcy, was certain. But where the hell had he seen the fellow before? For the sake of it, he couldn't remember. Hm, presumably he wasn't all that important then.  
'Hey mate, nice to see you again. Hope you don't mind if I have a look around, but when Monty heard that you own an estate as well, he sent me up here to have a look around and I think your place would be perfect for our new film: "Edwardian Eunuchs".'  
Josh!? - Dressed for once. No wonder he hadn't recognised him immediately. But wait, what? Had he really just suggested that they wanted Pemberley as a location for yet another of their blasted productions? Now, that was most certainly not going to happen. NO WAY!  
'Eh, you do know what a eunuch is, right?' Darcy stammered in his first surprise immediately cursing himself for even getting involved in any of this, no matter how remotely.  
But seriously, Monty and his crew were weird at the best of times, but come on, _eunuch_?  
'Yeah, sure, but we couldn't find another fairly suggestive word starting with E,' Josh shrugged with a lopsided grin on his actually quite expressive face.  
'How about "Escapades"?'  
'Wow, you are brilliant, man! - That sounds great "Edwardian Escapades". Perfect! So, when can we start filming then, mate?'  
Right, yes, he had once again given the completely wrong impression. But nope, his help would extend no further than slightly adjusting the title. That was more than generous enough considering everything he had suffered at the hands of Monty's misfits. There would not be alcohol enough to deal with this lot at his home! The nausea that had been all but gone crept back upon him at the mere thought of both Monty Howard and alcohol.  
'Not at all,' he all but gasped in reply.  
'But think of all the publicity, mate.'  
'That's exactly what I do. There is such a thing as negative publicity, you know? And besides, I've a busy day ahead and the missus is presumably already waiting for me...- So if you could just tell Monty that he's got to look around for another location for his latest _film_ , I would really appreciate it.'  
Breathe, man, breathe! In through the nose, out through the mouth... - Concentrate on the breathing and all will be well.  
'Sure,' Josh shrugged again. 'We just thought after everything went so smoothly down in Hertfordshire and you know exactly what you are dealing with...'  
Smoothly? _That_ had been their definition of smoothly! Yeah, right...  
'That is the point, I do know what I am dealing with, Josh, and I have no desire of a repetition of that experience. Some experiences are meant to be a once in a lifetime thing.'  
Okay, back to focussing on the breathing.  
'Fair enough. Well, as it stands, we've got another location at hand. Or possibly so, that is. Caroline really has got contacts everywhere, I tell you. She's a great location scout, or whatever, it is called. - Have you ever heard of Rosings Park?'  
Caroline? She couldn't be serious, right? She could not have, in all seriousness, suggested his aunt's estate alongside his own. That was taking things decidedly too far. And that had to say something, considering the way she had tricked her own brother into having to let Monty Howard film "Regency Romp" at Netherfield as soon as he had taken possession of it. The nerve!  
At least it made dealing with his aunt and Fanny Bennet seem like a piece of cake all of a sudden.

What the fuck was he worried about? It could be so much worse. He could have a sister like Caroline Bingley.

But thankfully instead he had Georgie. Okay, and Aunt Catherine and Mrs Bennet, but even combined, they were nothing in comparison to that harpy.  
Oh, shit, Josh looked like he actually expected an answer.  
'I have,' Darcy managed to answer through yet again gritted teeth.  
Bloody hell, he could only hope that he would be alright on his wedding day. At least the ceremony was scheduled for the early afternoon and by then he was usually fine. Throwing up was not really an alternative to throwing rice, was it?  
'You don't happen to know the owner, do you?' the young man dug deeper.  
Hm, why was it so very tempting to answer in the affirmative when he should just keep his mouth shut and then call Anne to give her a heads-up? Was it perhaps that after almost two weeks of his aunt meddling a little bit of revenge sounded nothing but reasonable and just? Jep, likely.  
And at any rate, before he knew it, the words had tumbled out of his mouth: 'Yes, I do. Lady Catherine de Bourgh is actually my aunt.'  
'No shit? Great. Then we'll tell her that you send your best...'  
'She's here at present.'  
Fuck, again that had not been what he had wanted to say, but he started to feel increasingly dizzy.  
'That is even better, mate. Is that her?'  
'No, that's my steward. My aunt is somewhere in the house. I just need to bring the tractor over to the hotel before...'  
He had not really just offered his help, had he? He guessed he had and at any rate, he had other things to see to, like reverently welcoming his stomach contents that could wait no longer to make an appearance, much to the shock of both Mrs Younge and Josh. Perfect, the last shred of his dignity had vanished into thin air.  
Wiping his mouth he beckoned Josh to climb onto the trailer and then drove off towards the hotel where in all likeliness Lizzy was already waiting just as she had said she would. And sure enough, there Elizabeth was looking mildly surprised at seeing that he was not alone.

It was to his great surprise that without further ado, Josh began to lend them a hand before it dawned on him, that in all likeliness he expected to be introduced to Lady Catherine in return for the favour. Damn, he had not thought about that. But now it was too late, and at any rate, why should he be the only one having to deal with an ever-increasing amount of madness? 


	54. Chapter 54 - Just wow!

_Chapter 54:_

 _Just wow!_

To say that his aunt had been thrilled at the prospect of having a film made at Rosings would be the understatement of the century. Yes, he had tried to explain to her what kind of film it would be, but in her euphoric state of mind there was little he could do, she just wouldn't listen. Nothing new there. It was not as if she _ever_ listened to anybody. And if he had thought that Mrs Bennet would perhaps come to his aid after she had been so shocked at the scene she had _accidentally_ witnessed at Netherfield, again, he had been wrong. Nada. Quite the contrary, even.  
'Oh, Cathy, that is so exciting! You know Fitzwilliam's friend Charles had a film team over only a couple of weeks ago and it was such an incredible experience. You should have seen all the historical costumes and stuff, and my two youngest even made friends with several of the young men there.'  
Eh? Had there been another production at Netherfield he was as yet unaware of? He should ask Bingley about it, which was just as well, for he was due to arrive in about right now.

Yep, there was a car turning into the backyard and sure enough, there was Charles, Jane in tow. Five minutes later and Fitz had arrived as well, dragging along an already exasperated looking Anne.  
'Jane, my dear, I had not expected you today already! Don't you need to work, love?' Mrs Bennet dashed across the kitchen shoving her eldest daughter's boyfriend aside.  
'I took off, Mama. I mean, my sister is getting married, so of course, I will be there to give her a hand. It was, admittedly, a bit of a struggle at first, but nothing that wasn't resolved fairly quickly either and to everybodies satisfaction.'  
At hearing these words Elizabeth rolled her eyes.

Well, she didn't exactly like all this girly stuff she would have to go through, like having her hair done properly, her nails painted, her face ironed or whatever women did to make their skin look smooth.

Yes, he was taking the mickey. A three-hour face mask would have to do. Not that Elizabeth needed one at all.  
'That is so good of you, Jane, dear. By the way, when are _you_ getting married? You cannot be that far behind, especially since you are older...'  
'Mum, please, this is Lizzy's wedding, let's concentrate on that, okay?'  
No, lets not. Too much "concentration" had already gone into the wedding as far as his opinion went. Ah, but never mind! Two more days and then: peace... - FREEDOM!  
'So, Darcy, are you prepared for stag night?'  
'No.'  
'I thought so. You never are prepared for some harmless fun, Willy,' Fitz grinned, slapping him on the shoulder.  
'That, cousin, has something to do with our different points of view as to what we consider fun. It's as simple as that,' Darcy sighed, an ominous feeling creeping up on him.  
'Oh come now, what isn't fun about getting pissed and then watch as a stripper struggle her way out of a papier maché merengue?'  
'Eh, pretty much everything. You have not really hired a stripper, have you.'  
'Of course not, Darce, what do you think of me? I'm not such a cheapskate... - Besides, we are a merry group, we will need a bit more than one single stripper, don't you agree?'  
'No.'  
'Are you saving your "I do's" for church or something?'  
'I do.'  
'See, it didn't hurt, did it?'  
'No.'  
'Good. - Oh, by the by, in case you are worried that Lizzy won't have any fun, Jane has planned a hen night for her. Charlotte should be here any time soon, but I guess she needed to stop once in a while. She's having the first company-baby, at least regarding Netherfield, isn't that great? If that isn't a good omen then I don't know. - But she is constantly throwing up and she's tired all of the time, naturally. Yet, she still does a great job, so I have nothing to complain about.'  
'What, _Charlotte_ Lucas?!'  
Mrs Bennet had just passed them to fetch some coffee for herself when she had caught Bingley's words.

Why was it always coffee? What was wrong with drinking tea?  
'Yes, she's the only Charlotte working for me at Netherfield at the moment. Why?'  
' _Charlotte_ Lucas is _pregnant_? That is so unfair! Patty will be a grandmother before I? That is so... - so... fucked up!' Mrs Bennet wailed as if she had just lost her husband or something along those lines.  
Okay, yes, he got it, there was nothing Fanny Bennet wanted more than to be a grandmother, but come on.

And besides, did she have to hold that blasted coffee so close to him, practically dangling it right under his nose so he had to smell it?  
'And who, pray, is the father? You know she is rather plain, don't you agree, Charles? I really cannot see who would fornicate with _her_ of all people,' Mrs Bennet carried on, indignantly pressing the coffee into her almost son in law's hands so she could firmly plant her hands on her hips in a defiant manner.  
Bingley looked as perplexed as he did, just not as ashen, obviously. As said, of late Darcy hated coffee! With a vengeance at that. - And coffee very obviously hated him, too.

Seriously, Charlotte Lucas might not be quite in the realms of Lizzy and Jane, but she was not exactly a hag either. And from what he had heard from Lizzy and seen of her himself, she was definitely nice enough to find herself a nice boyfriend. The only thing she really lacked was a little more confidence. But hey, no wonder she felt a bit insecure if she was always deemed to be the ugly duckling by everybody.  
Gods, slowly, ever so slowly, inch by inch the bile rose up his oesophagus...  
'I didn't ask. I mean, it's none of my business really.'  
'Oh, but it is!'  
Right, any moment now and... - Showtime!  
'Fuck, Darcy, what's the matter with you, mate?'  
'Nerves! Nothing but nerves...' his aunt scoffed from across the room. 'I told him all along that all men are ninnies when it comes to marriage.'  
Well, cheers! That was exactly what he wanted to hear after puking onto part of the kitchen table, two of the chairs and the floor, just about missing the people close by while still gracefully managing to thoroughly embarrass himself. On the upside, Lizzy was by his side in no time.  
'Okay, I've had it, Will, we'll go to the doctor's right _now_! No opposition. Let's get you cleaned up and then get going. This has been going on for long enough. Your aunt can say whatever she wants, but I am pretty sure this has more to do with food poisoning or a bug going around than nerves. I should have insisted on you seeing a doctor much sooner.'  
Yes, going to the doctor was perhaps not such a bad idea, just what was he supposed to tell him? "Hey, I throw up all over the place every single morning - or when I smell coffee or strong perfume and stuff like that." Nope, it sounded silly even to his ears.  
'I am fine. It is just the bloody coffee. I can't stand the smell for the sake of it. It makes me sick.'  
'The _coffee_?' Fitz gaped, then started laughing. 'The _coffee_ is making you sick? That is the most hilarious thing I have ever heard. Shit, are you sure you are not preggers, mate?'  
Yes, his cousin had a point. It was just that judging by Elizabeth's expression, she would brook no opposition.  
With flashing eyes and hands on her hips, making her look a little like her mother, she scolded: 'Stop making fun, Fitz! Seriously, this has been going on for almost two weeks and it's so not funny anymore. Not that it was even remotely funny, to begin with.'  
And with that, his betrothed literally dragged him from the room and up the stairs for a little cleanup. It was just as well. Darcy didn't exactly feel like company after his little malheur. It was one thing to throw up in front of other people when piss-drunk but like this? Nope, utterly mortifying!

Okay, throwing up drunk usually meant that one was beyond the point of caring anyway and the next morning, more often than not, the memory was too blurred and the head too heavy to worry all that much about spreading stomach contents all over the place.

Half an hour later and they had reached his GP, a man that had been the Darcy's family-doctor for literally decades. And they were lucky to arrive just minutes before the end of his lunch break while the nurse at the front desk checked people in already. Thank goodness, only one bloke had been there before them and that one was quick to tell them with a grinning visage, that he was only there for a jab.

Seriously, TMFI for the moment. The smell of disinfectant wasn't all that much better than that of coffee, truth be told, and consequently the sticky, overheated waiting room was more of a torture chamber than anything else.  
'Sorry, Lizzy, I need to get out of here...' Darcy gasped before making another run for it.  
Fortunately the loo was right across the corridor from the waiting room.

Yes, yes yes, he got why Elizabeth was concerned, he started to worry himself. This couldn't be normal and it seemed to get worse by the day. As said, if it were Lizzy, he would have an inkling as to what might be amiss but with him it could be anything. Though, giving it some thought, food poisoning didn't make much sense since no-one else had the same troubles while having eaten the exact same stuff he had. And seriously, how likely was it that he alone suffered stomach flu while everybody close to him was completely unfazed? Wasn't it normally a thing that once one person had caught it, sooner or later everybody was stuck on the pot? Normally, but hey, what was normal these days? The lines between reason and madness had been decidedly blurred over the last two weeks.

Okay, yes, it was nerves. Nerves, nerves, nerves...  
Shit, why did he still have to feel so very sick? There was nothing left in his tummy to bring to the surface and still he was dry heaving. Brilliant! Well, fingers crossed he was not doomed to being hospitalised on his wedding day. On second thought, it would mean a nice and quiet wedding...  
'Well, Mr Darcy, what ails you then?' the voice of Dr Miller piped up behind him, making him start and retch some more.  
'Upset stomach, I see...'  
Oh, really? No shit, Sherlock?  
'I'm not so sure it is just an upset stomach, Doctor. He's been throwing up every single morning for the last... - well, almost two weeks,' Elizabeth threw in, before he'd had a chance to answer.  
'Really? Every morning or every day?'  
'Every morning of every day. During the day he seems to be alright, though there seem to be certain smells he can't stand very well...'  
'Are you pregnant?' the doctor asked casually.

What?  
'Eh, as you might recall, I am a bloke, Dr Miller. As far as I know men are not very likely to fall pregnant.'  
'Not _you_ , Mr Darcy, I'm asking Miss Bennet!'  
Okay...  
'I... - eh, well, I don't know.'  
' _Could_ you be pregnant?'  
'I... - I guess so.'  
'Right, and _I_ thought so. Nancy?! We need a pregnancy test. Thank you."  
Immediately Nancy the nurse began rummaging around one of the drawers of her desk before coming over and without much ado, pressed a small box into Elizabeth's hands.  
'I am sorry to point out as much, Doctor, but it isn't me who's throwing up, it's Will.'  
'Yes, I know, and I'll have a little chat with him while you pee on that stick and as soon as it shows something we'll see how to commence.'  
With a kidney basin securely tucked under his chin, Darcy was shoved towards the examination room, leaving a flabbergasted Elizabeth behind, pregnancy test in hand.  
'And now?' Darcy asked when he had been pushed into one of the chairs in the doctor's office.  
'I'll take a blood sample and then we'll wait, though I am pretty certain about the result. You are much like your father, you know?'  
'What has my father got to do with my upset stomach?'  
'Oh, only so much as that when your mother was expecting both you and later your sister, he was the one being green in the face, gaining weight, suffering mood swings, back pains and so forth.'  
Okay, that he hadn't known. Sounded lovely...  
'When your mother went into labour, he was the worse for wear and... - Ah, there is the future Mrs Darcy,' Miller smiled at him beningly. 'Two days until the wedding, right?'  
'Yes,' Darcy sighed with some relief. Only two more days of madness, if he had any luck.  
Elizabeth's approaching footsteps the doctor had picked up upon stopped in front of the door, a knock sounded and a moment later she entered with a face that spoke of shock and incredulity.  
'Ah, I see the test has been positive,' Miller smiled, his eyes twinkling behind his glasses.  
'How do you know?'  
'I have seen enough women with that exact expression on their faces to know perfectly well what it means. - And besides, there is your almost hubby throwing up all over the place just like his father did. Ah, the advantages of being a family-GP for generations...'  
Cheerfully rubbing his hands Dr Miller leaned over his desk, to offer Elizabeth a chair and then began scribbling a prescription and something else on a sticky note.  
'So, that's for your nausea, my lad, and these are the phone numbers of a couple of local midwives.'  
'That's it?'  
'Yes, I'll have a look at the results from the blood test, but they won't be in before tomorrow, so, have a nice evening. Are you having a stag night?'  
'My cousin insists I have one...'  
'Good, and I agree with him. Every man should. Bye.'  
'But I would rather rest...'  
'Then go home, do so for a couple of hours and then, afterwards, have some fun. Once the little one is born, the two of you will be too busy to go out any time soon, believe me.'  
Okay, Dr Miller might have a point there, but still, Darcy was little inclined to an evening of more madness and there was little doubt that a stag night planned by Bingley and, even worse, Fitz included plenty of that. Elizabeth seemed to think along the same lines, though with Jane being the one having planned the hen night, he doubted she had much to worry about.  
It was only when they both sat in his car again, that the whole extent of what had just been revealed sank in.

Lizzy was pregnant. He was going to be a dad! Wow... - Just WOW!  
'Will?' Elizabeth started when exited the small car park of the surgery.  
'Yes?'  
'Are you okay? I mean with me being...'  
'Okay? Lizzy, I am more than just okay, I am _ecstatic_! So much so, that I don't even give a toss about the puking anymore. If it means you don't feel sick, then it is my pleasure to take over for you.'  
At this Elizabeth had to laugh, snorting something about being appreciative, before turning serious again: 'But Will, not _a word_ to my mother!'  
Okay, not to say something was one thing, he'd manage that, but how was he to wipe that broad smile off of his face, when he was literally overflowing with happiness?

Ah, well, never mind, they would work it out somehow.


	55. Chapter 55 - Shangri La

_Chapter 55:_

 _Shangri La_

By the time they arrived back at Pemberley, after taking a B-line via the pharmacy, Charlotte had arrived as well. But if Elizabeth had thought to find the whole house in a buzz this time around, she had obviously been wrong. As a matter of fact, it was almost eerily quiet. Too quiet! Where the heck was everybody?

Okay, Jane, Charlotte, Anne and Georgiana still sat in the kitchen each with a cup of tea in front of them looking pleased with themselves, while Mrs Reynolds, Lady Catherine and her mother were nowhere to be seen. Neither were Fitz and Bingley. What the fuck was going on?  
'Ah, there you are again, Lizzy. How are you, Will?' Jane asked, as soon as they'd entered the kitchen.  
All eyes were on them now, the expression on each face a curious one.  
'I'm much better, thank you. I got some stuff that helps with the nausea and it seems to work a treat. Hi, Charlotte. Georgie, where is everybody?' Darcy asked the exact same question she herself had been about to ask.  
'Well, for our part, we are here, as you can clearly see, brother dear, Mrs Reynolds has gone out as she does every other Thursday to meet her friends for dinner, and Fanny and Aunt Cathy are on their way to Shangri La,' Georgiana answered off-handedly.  
So much so, that Elizabeth couldn't help the feeling that she had been working with Jane all along. Was there no-one she could trust anymore?  
Wait, what? Shangri La?  
'Eh, come again?'  
'Well, we thought it's better to have them out of the way tonight and thankfully Georgie organised for them to go to Shangri La. I mean, I figured that you, in all likeliness, didn't want Mum or Lady Catherine to cluck in on your hen night, so we needed to come up with _something_ ,' Jane tried to explain, but failed miserably since her reply didn't really answer anything.  
If anything, it raised more questions. And why the hell was Charlotte grinning broadly while intently looking at her? She seemed to thoroughly enjoy herself and took even more delight in her friend's apparent confusion. Well, cheers, Lottie.

But seriously, Elizabeth could not help the feeling that she was missing something, big time.  
Her suspicions were confirmed when Darcy asked, completely unconcerned: 'And how are they getting to Derby?'  
Right, Shangri La was in Derby, not the Himalayas, no wonder people had been looking for it in vain...  
'With Uncle Eddie's Rolls. He's even agreed to drive them.'  
Right, Uncle _Eddie_ was the ominous Earl she had yet to meet. Lady Catherine's brother. And with that also the brother of Will's late mother. Or in short, Fitz's dad.

By the way, _where_ were the men? That was the one question Georgiana had not answered and a moment later she didn't need to anymore, when she heard their voices and both Fitz, Bingley and two another man Elizabeth didn't know stepped into the room, their faces red with laughter.  
'I guess that will be some surprise for Lizzy, can't believe that... - Oh, shit, you are back already?' Bingley stammered in surprise, stopping in his tracks.  
'Yep.'  
'Well, Darce, we're done with the preparations and you look a lot better as well. Ready to go?'  
'No.'  
'Oh, come now, don't start _again_! I mean, what's so bad with a little partying before life turns serious?' the shorter of the two strangers asked. 'I mean, my stag-night was fun, wasn't it?'  
'I can't remember much of it, if I'm honest, George. And when I finally regained consciousness, I found myself on the front-steps of Matlock wearing drag.'  
'You, mate weren't wearing drag, you wore a red lace bra, matching knickers and suspenders along with stockings and pumps,' Fitz grinned.  
'As I said, drag.'  
'You did look sexy, though,' the other, stranger chuckled. 'And at least we were considerate enough to give you a whole day before the wedding to sober up. I wasn't all that lucky. But, at least, I made it to church on time. Not that Cissy was too happy about my state.'  
'Very considerate. Cheers! - By the way, Lizzy, these are my other two cousins. Richard's older brothers, Edward and George.'  
Okay, by now she had figured out as much. The family resemblance was actually uncanny, though Edward's hair was lighter than that of his two brothers' and he was not quite as athletic. No surprise, considering that Fitz was a soldier, though what exactly George did for a living, she had no idea, though she faintly remembered that Will had mentioned it at some point or other. Then again, so much had been going on lately...  
'That's just what we are. Considerate, I mean. By the way, when is the little one due, Will?' Edward asked innocently.  
Taken by complete surprise Darcy stuttered: 'H-h-how...?'  
'Dad,' his youngest cousin shrugged. 'Said he knows that phenomenon well from your own father. Never knew such things ran in the family and I'm mightily glad it doesn't in mine. - Oh, by the way, Lizzy, your mother is over the moon.'  
FUCK! Yes, fuck spelt with capital letters.

So much for keeping her pregnancy a secret for as long as was humanly possible. She was frickin' doomed.  
'So, mate, time to dress up and paint the town. Same for you, girls, off you go!' George ushered them on.

Before Elizabeth could say anything, Jane and Charlotte had taken hold of her and mercilessly steered her up to her room, leaving a bewildered looking Will and four cackling blokes behind.

Not very reassuring. Poor Will!

And where the hell had Georgiana disappeared to? Or Anne for that matter?  
'By the way, we've taken the liberty of putting out some clothes for you to wear,' Jane smiled cheerfully.  
Okay...  
Looking at her sister, she obviously hadn't changed yet either, nor had Charlotte and Georgiana had still been in her school uniform last she had seen her a few minutes ago. The door to her own disused bedroom was pushed open, leaving Elizabeth confused, at first and then utterly incredulous.

She was supposed to wear THAT? But that was a...

Even looking at it from all angles, she could come to no other conclusion, it was a fucking bright yellow plush onesie that was obviously supposed to be some sort of weird chicken, sporting a beak and red comb on its hood and some sort of feathery tail.  
They had to be kidding, right? She would not go out in this! Not while sober at any rate, and drinking very obviously was out of the question. Well, aside from that it wouldn't have been fair on Charlotte even if she weren't pregnant herself. And then there was also Georgiana who was plain too young to drink and thinking of it, too young to go clubbing or whatever they had in mind. Where the heck was Georgie?  
'Lottie and I just go and get changed likewise, okay?' Jane chimed in, interrupting her thoughts.  
No, it was _not_ fucking okay. They were taking the piss, right? The actual dress she was supposed to wear must be hidden somewhere, surely. But before Elizabeth could react, her two companions were gone, walking down the corridor giggling. Swell! WTF?  
Looking into her chest of drawers there was sod all in there aside from a note in Jane's hand saying: "Nice try, Sis. The chicken outfit, if you please!"  
Okay, dressing room next. Same situation, same frickin' note. Multiple times even. Bathroom? Nope, same story. Seems like her sister had anticipated her reaction. Dandy! Right, where else could she look? Under the bed? Inside the duvet cover? Under the mattress? Okay, the sitting room...

She should have thought of that sooner. But nope, all were equally devoid of anything decent to wear. The only piece of clothing was that blasted onesie and a set of comfy looking underwear and thick woollen socks. Weirdly enough, no shoes. Hm...?  
'Are you still not done?' Jane asked from the door.  
Wheeling around Elizabeth's jaw dropped.  
There stood Jane sporting a blue teddy-bear onesie.

Charlotte, in turn, had turned into a turquoise dog her tail wagging every time she moved slightly, Anne into a plum-coloured cat and Georgiana into a soft pink unicorn with a glittery horn in sparkly rainbow colours. Out of all of them, she looked perhaps the least ridiculous, though that didn't say all that much, for the rest looked so silly, even Kitty and Lydia at their worst were no match.  
'You really want to go out dressed like this?' Elizabeth finally managed to inquire.  
'Who the heck said we are going out?' Anne asked back innocently. 'As far as I remember no-one.'  
'But...?' True actually, no-one had said they were going to go out, thinking of it.  
'But it's time for you to turn into a cute little chick, Lizzy.'  
'And then?' she couldn't help asking tentatively.  
'Pizza, alcohol-free cocktails and girlie movies until we fall asleep.'  
'Don't forget about the ice cream!' Anne added cheekily.  
'And the pillow fight,' Georgiana threw in, bobbing up and down as if she were six and not sixteen.  
'And the nail-painting and inevitable face masks,' Charlotte piped up.  
'Not to forget the little surprise we've prepared for later on...'  
Okay, that didn't sound all that bad. Actually, after what she had feared, it sounded really nice, though Elizabeth wasn't sure whether she needed yet another surprise today.

Re-locating to one of the smaller sitting rooms downstairs, Elizabeth found that it had been basically transformed into a cinema with a fold-up screen, and a beamer attached to a DVD-player on a trolley. Even the furniture had been arranged accordingly, so every one of them had full view of the screen with little to nothing in the way.

The sofas were stacked with pillows, cushions and blankets; crisps, popcorn and various sweets, enough to feed a whole army, had been put into bowls and endless bottles of juice, syrup and soft drinks were neatly arranged on the window sill.  
Did she mention that she had the best sister in the world yet?

If not, it was about high time! It was a bit of a shame that Mary, Kitty and Lydia could not be here likewise but... - Oops, where did they come from all of a sudden?  
'Did you really _think_ we would stay at home when there is a party to go to?' Lydia, a purple cow with pink udder and glittery horns, asked laughingly. ' _No_ way! - Mary, you are not seriously going to read that chemistry book, are you?'  
Mary, dressed up as a pink little piggy with what she supposed were to be mud splatters, didn't look all too happy, either at being caught or being here in the first place when she had so many other important things to do, like learning for her A-levels. Oh, it was Thursday, she missed Morris dancing practice. Poor one!  
Kitty, in the shape of an oversized bright green bunny, for once the resolute one, took the offending book out of her sister's hand and shoved her into the nearest armchair while neatly disposing of the book by throwing it into the basket used for carrying in fire wood.  
'Oh stop it, Mary. Just relax for once, will you?' she scolded, before sitting down next to Mary.  
While the rest of them bunked down on the sofas Anne put in the first film. "Bridget Jones", naturally and turned off most of the lights. Ha, hen night wasn't so bad after all. Well, not at all. It was actually great fun.

By the time the pizza arrived they were onto part two and Kitty, Lydia and Georgiana had started to paint their nails in the brightest colours possible. Needless to say, that each nail sported a different one. Hm, who would have thought that those three would get along so well together? Perfect!  
And what idiot had come up with the idea that one couldn't possibly have a good time without alcohol?  
'By the way, do you know that Mum thinks that you are pregnant again?' Lydia asked, looking up from her task of blotting green nail polish onto Georgiana's already yellow thumbnail. 'She's in a right frenzy, I tell you. I didn't see her, but I heard her clearly enough when she left in that cool car, together with her new cronie, Lady whatever-her-name-is. I'm bad with names, sorry.'  
'Lady Catherine, you mean. And no, I'm not pregnant again, Lyddy, since I wasn't pregnant the first time around.'  
'You know what I mean, that Mum again thinks you are. Wait a sec, does that mean that this time around you actually are?' Lydia had picked up on her meaning surprisingly quickly. 'Pregnant, I mean.'  
'Yes.'  
'Whoohoo, I'm going to be an aunty!'  
'So that is why you have to marry in such haste?' Mary interjected. 'I would've thought you to be more sensible than that.'  
Speaking about party crashers... - Well, at least there was ice cream ahead of them to make up for that.  
'No, I only found out today. The haste is due to Will and I wanting to keep our sanity and with keeping Mama away from planning a state affair.'  
'Hm,' was all Mary's unbelieving reply as she picked up yet another piece of pizza.  
'What?'  
Grinning broadly Mary replied: 'Just testing you. I'm not all that stuck up, you know?'  
Well, that was good to hear, especially from Mary.  
'And at least we can clear out our attic,' Kitty giggled. 'I was worried about how to get at our Christmas stuff with all the baby things in the way.'  
'Yeah, we can put it onto our trailer and ask Mum to drive it up here using the tractor once she's got her license back. It's not as spectacular as a manure spreader, but hey, you can't have everything,' Lydia dead-panned making everybody around her dissolve in laughter.  
At shortly after eleven, the first yawns erupted, just when they were about half-way through "When Harry met Sally". By one, they had just started on "Shakespeare in love", everybody was dozing off peacefully. In short, it had been a perfect hen night, aside from perhaps the lack of the promised pillow fight, but hey, who gave a damn? 


	56. Chapter 56 - Tails

_Chapter 56:_

 _Tails_

'So, come on mate, time to get you ready,' Bingley chirped cheerfully after the girls had gone upstairs some twenty minutes ago and Darcy had actually been wondering about the delay.  
Yes, Bingley actually _chirped_. Not a good sign at all.

But hey, in the end, what could possibly go wrong, right? Eh, well a lot. Sod's law and all that jazz. And it was stag night. His stag night no less. So, judging by what had gone tits up of late, he was sure to be doomed. But at least he didn't need to ponder any longer what had kept them, for the cue for getting up had been his uncle entering the kitchen.  
The Earl of Matlock was an imposing figure so much was true, but he was also a cheeky bugger. No need to guess where his three son's had inherited that trait from. It was most decidedly not from their mother's side...  
'So, Will, are you going to be a daddy then?' he asked slapping his nephew's shoulder in greeting.  
'Eh, yes.'  
'That's my boy! Was about time you got hitched and started a family. Congratulations!'  
He slapped Darcy again, this time on the back, but not with any less strength and that was considerable, for though in his late fifties, he still played rugby, rowed, rode, fenced and did yoga.  
Yes, this really was the same man who, when in high society, which he, truth be told, tried to avoid as often as he could in favour of a pint at his local, behaved impeccably to the extreme. It always astonished Darcy, but, never mind.  
Just like Lizzy had been, he was escorted, or rather led away police-style, up to his room to find...- No, they had to be kidding him, right?  
'What the fuck is that _thing_ on the armchair over there?'  
'What does it look like?' his uncle asked innocently.  
Again, the feeling of impending doom loomed over him like Damocles' sword.  
'A frickin' nun's habit!'  
'And that is just what it is, Darcy. I hope we've got the size right, but then again, what does it matter if it's a bit short on you? You've got a nice pair of shoes to go with it,' Bingley grinned.  
'Okay, the habit is one thing, but why do I get a bit wary seeing the high heels you've picked out for me?'  
'You should see the undies we've chosen for you to wear,' Edward grinned, nudging his chuckling brother's in the ribs.  
'U-u-undies?'  
Why did he get the feeling that he was in at the deep end?

Alright, alright, he'd had that feeling all along, truth be told, ever since Bingley had announced that he could not possibly get married without a stag night, but SHIT! This was even beyond what he had come up with in his worst dreams and that had to say something.  
'We'll leave you then so you can get changed in peace and we'll change likewise. See you in a nick.'  
Seriously, if they thought he would wear _that_ , they were oh so wrong. After all, what were dressing rooms for but to store clothes? Decent ones. And as it was, his was only a few steps away. - And locked. Of course! What had he been thinking?  
Of course, it was locked and as for the chest of drawers, it had been emptied out. If he hadn't soiled himself earlier on, he could simply keep his clothes on, but...

Yes, Lizzy had cleaned him up reasonably well, but the combination of cold sweat, a few splatters of vomit that had escaped them and the wrinkled state his clothes were in by now didn't make them acceptable for a night out in any shape or form. Just great!

Right, he had one more option, get undressed, and slip under the covers and just go to sleep. Fuck stag night!  
With a last incredulous look at the habit, from underneath which indeed a red lacy something peeked out, Darcy did just that and with a contented smile sank onto his bed to take off his shoes, an action that was greeted with an ominous _plop_ and a moment later he felt his bum get wet. These bastards!

Seriously, they had replaced his mattress with blasted water balloons, put a blanket over it to straighten out the lumps and bumps and then put the sheet back on. Fuck, that was sneaky! And granted, quite ingenious. Shit, they must have had their hands' full preparing while he had been out. This was not the work of half an hour. And it most certainly ensured that he had no choice but to put on the clothes they had laid out.  
'And, have you wet yourself yet?' he heard Fitz ask from outside the door.  
His friends certainly knew him well. Too well in cases such as these, it appeared. Blast!  
'No,' he lied from between clenched teeth and was met with a hearty laugh from the corridor.  
So, there was not only Fitz there waiting for him. Right, time to turn into a nun, unless he wanted to go either looking like a tramp or naked. Neither was much of an alternative.

So, first things first, undies. Hm, what was more dangerous, donning that abomination of a string that would have done Gloria honour, if she decided to opt for underwear for once that was, or go al fresco? Okay, at least this way his Willy would be covered, though squeezing his... - Nope, he would not even finish this thought. Bloody hell, could they not at least have chosen one of these ridiculous elephant-strings? At least that would have ensured his privates not being.

Wait, what? This was actually a lace string for men?! Well, fuck me sideways! So, stockings next.  
Somehow this had gone much better when piss-drunk if the pictures he had seen of himself lying on Matlock's front steps afterwards had been anything to go by. How the heck was one supposed to know which way to put them on? Was there even a heel? And why the heck did he give a damn? And seriously, at this point, he was even starting to feel thankful that they had not opted for killer-heels but for a more moderate version of pumps that at least would ensure that he would not sport a broken ankle on his wedding day. Pulling the habit over his head his Frank N. Further-self finally turned into some sort of kinky nun.  
He was done and in desperate need of alcohol. This kind of clothing while being sober was hard to be bear, or rather not at all.  
Gods, he could only pray that he would not run into Lizzy. He would never live that down. Not right now anyway. This was once again one of those instances that was best for laughing about afterwards. Though speaking of prayer, this made his costume actually quite an apt one.  
And thinking of Lizzy, how was she faring? Much better, presumably, for he could not, no matter how hard he tried, picture Jane putting her sister through any of this sort of rubbish. 'Come on, mate, what's taking you so long? Time to go, Will,' George shouted after another five minutes.  
With a resigned sigh, Fitzwilliam Darcy was about to step out of the room when something caught his eye. Tucked under the armchair and previously well hidden by the long habit he now sported, lay a bundle of what he guessed were clothes. They, too, were black, but... - Yep, it was a suit. Okay, much better. Infinitely better, to be precise.  
'I'll be there in a sec,' he shouted back, already stripping, all but tearing the stockings off his legs.  
Perhaps it would have been an idea to first undo the straps of the suspenders, but hey, no time for such trifles.  
'Are you putting on makeup or something?' he heard Edward from the other side of the door again, followed by a few more chuckles.  
'No, struggling with the bow tie,' Darcy lied, for he had little trouble tying it with nimble fingers.  
'Shit, he found it!' his youngest cousin wailed with mock exasperation.  
'Told you so,' Bingley shot back laughing.  
Okay, so no need to guess who had come up with the idea of tricking him into turning himself into a nun. Even the most simple-minded bloke would have been able to take an educated guess at it.

You just wait, Fitz, until it is your turn to get married!  
Another five minutes later Darcy stepped out of his room and was greeted by the sight of his friends likewise dressed in tails, just as him, top hat and all, looking much like a bunch of Edwardian gentlemen about to hit the town. So yes, they were technically still in costume, but at least they didn't look silly. If anything, a suit makes even the ugliest fellow look like something, right?  
'So, ready to party?' his uncle asked, holding out yet another top hat for him to don.  
'I guess so,' Darcy replied, once more wondering where their little _adventure_ would take them.  
He also couldn't help the feeling that this was not yet the end of it. Something was bound to still go tits-up. It always did, especially when his cousins were involved.  
'And ready for a little walk?'  
Walk? Yeah, sure. Fresh air was always good and if they meant to walk, this surely meant that the venue of their little celebration couldn't be too far off. Only one such location came to mind and that was his own hotel.  
And sure enough, there it was right before them some ten minutes later, looking quite welcoming. Especially since it had started to rain. Not an uncommon occurrence in England at this time of year, true. Fortunately, somebody had come up with the idea of inventing this universal tool that saved people from getting soaked and had called it rather bluntly umbrella. Not very fancy for such a handy tool, but it had stuck nonetheless.  
Putting their brollies aside, they stepped into the club room of his very own establishment. A cosy den fitted out with a couple of tables and a pair of sliding doors that opened up to the billiard lounge. Downright perfect actually. Who would have thought? Ha, and even his staff had been put into frock coats, at least the men, while the girls had been fitted out with black dresses and white aprons, all surprisingly classy.

Truth be told, he had almost expected to find various ladies in skimpy dresses serving them. Not that he generally minded the odd peek, but of late the only woman he desired to see scantily clad, or rather not at all, was Elizabeth and he doubted that this would ever change again.

'I should probably tell you, Will, that all your staff has volunteered to attend you tonight,' his uncle informed him. 'So, the only things you'll have to do yourself is eat, drink and go to the loo, everything else is taken care off.'  
'Just like in the good old days, when us folks had nothing to do but entertain other idle fellows such as ourselves,' George added. 'Thank goodness these days are over, or I would have drowned in a vat of port a long time ago.'  
'Madeira,' Darcy could not help remarking upon remembering Georgiana's history essay, that thanks to Phil she had finally finished a week ago.  
'What?' his middle cousin asked bewildered.  
'Never mind. Same difference really.'  
'If you say so.'  
'I do.'  
'So, shall we have dinner then?' Bingley inquired, looking slightly confused at their topic of conversation.  
Okay, so did Edward, while Fitz chuckled, obviously knowing what he was talking about. Not all that surprising, really, considering that occasionally he, just like Phil, donned a suit of armour and rode into battle. Sandhurst was, after all, not just a military academy, it also held a vast collection of old weapons and such stuff and old fighting techniques were still taught there as well, meaning film-makers wanting to make a documentary or the like, didn't really get around asking for advice there.

Hm, he actually should introduce Fitz and Phil, if they didn't know each other already that was. And actually there was a good chance that they did, just that he had never thought about it before. Hm, perhaps he should try it sometime as well...  
'What are we having for dinner?' Darcy inquired when finally waking from his thoughts, glancing at the elaborately set table before them.  
Okay, they would have at least a starter, a soup, a fish course, an entrée, a main course and dessert. Oh, and obviously a selection of cheese with the inevitable port and cigars afterwards.  
The answer was promptly given by the earl: 'Well, dry sherry first, then a lovely Beaujolais, some medium-dry sherry, followed by a nice Chablis. I know it's not common to serve red wine before white, but hey, who gives a damn as long as they are a decent vintage? Then I've chosen a light Chardonnay, a wonderfully rich Bordeaux, closely followed by a sweet sherry and port, of course.'  
Shit, that was a lot of alcohol...

But it seemed all good-quality stuff, meaning that hey would get hammered in style. Perfect!  
'Eh, I actually meant the food.'  
'Food?'  
'You know, the chewy stuff to go with all these nice wines?' Darcy explained the obvious. He'd never thought he'd have to do so, but hey.  
'Ah, the _food_ , now that you mention it... - Peter, could you please start serving the canapés? You are quite right, nephew, we do need a bit of a basis to get through all these beauties.'  
'Most certainly, Sir,' Peter bowed as if he were a butler and not one of the managers of the hotel, looking a bit awkward in the process, which in turn had the maids, normally working as waitresses and receptionists, giggling, destroying all mock pretence.  
Canapés? Wow, they really had opted for hardcore fancy food, if there were canapés...  
Yep, the wine was excellent and the food was fantastic, no two ways about it. And there was a lot of both. The food did little to counteract the effects of the alcohol, truth be told, and by half ten it was safe to say, that all of them were quite deep in their cups. And they had only just finished their main course of roast beef, spuds and beans, which meant two more courses to go. Well, Darcy got the sneaky suspicion that food rather increased the effect... - Okay, it generally depended on the amount of either food and alcohol, and on how the consumed amounts related to one another, basic maths in short, but seriously, who gave a fuck? Not he. Not at the moment, at any rate, the wine was just too good.  
By midnight, the meal was at last out of the way. It would have been over sooner, had it not been necessary to take a little break when the danger of bursting at the seams from sheer over-indulgence had risen significantly after the sumptuous chocolate soufflé they had been served. A walk had sounded like a good plan until they stepped out and saw that by now it was pouring down. Ah well, never mind, a game of pool would do just as well.  
Or darts, just for good measure. By the way, did anybody ever hit the bulls-eye while sober? Just a thought, no answer required. It was obvious at any rate that the answer must be a very decided "no".

Ha, but like this, he had already managed to hit it five times! Okay, almost. But it had been close. He had just missed the dartboard by mere inches... - And seriously, hitting the vase on the mantelpiece was some achievement, too. He had never liked it anyway.  
Ah, what a perfect evening after all! He really had the best friends in the world and it mattered little that his knickers were itching. He should have taken the lace thong off, but come on, no-one was going to see them, right?


	57. Chapter 57 - Suspenders

_Chapter 57:_

 _Suspenders_

Darn, the last drink must have been off.  
The others sure as hell had been fine, but that one single shot of Whiskey right after that weird tasting cocktail with the insinuating name he couldn't remember and the remainder of that lovely Bordeaux, not to mention the sherry and wine he'd had before, had him fall asleep in no time.  
Hangovers were never very nice, to begin with, but hangovers while suffering from morning sickness were about ten times worse as Darcy presently found out. And hangover and morning sickness combined with wearing nothing but the red lacy thong and a neatly tied cravat was the ultimate humiliation. Darn, the latter was still as itchy as it had been last night.  
Eh, why was there a bleating sheep in his bed? Very funny! Ha-ha.  
And why did it have to look so very comfortable in the suspenders it was wearing? The very ones he had only just escaped last night, one might add.  
Closing his eyes again, Darcy attempted to wake up for real this time around, but nope. The sheep was still there, so where the suspenders and he still didn't wear anything but a thong and a tie. Whoohoo!  
Well, what had he expected? The evening had been too calm to be trusted. He should have known better. Waking up to a nice cup of tea and a good breakfast would have been too much to ask. At least the bleating beast didn't bat an eyelid but merely carried on bleating and put a neat turd on the sheets as he threw up in the bin that had been strategically placed right next to the bed. Yeah, it really were the little things that mattered.  
Ah, and bless, someone had been considerate enough to leave his pills for battling his nausea on the bedside table along a couple of aspirins, a bottle of water and some dry crackers. How courteous! Good to know that someone still cared for his well-being.  
So, stock take: He was in one of his hotel rooms. So far so good. It could have been worse, he supposed. He could have been left at the station or the police or something. Think positive, man! - Ha, and it was only four o'clock. Dandy.

Wait, eh, it was daylight outside and in November this meant it must be four in the fucking afternoon...

Shit, he had basically slept the day away and there was still so much to do! Okay, perhaps someone had tampered with the timepiece. Hopefully. Please!

Lizzy would have his guts if this was for real.  
Right, mate, dress and get back to the house and all will be well. With any luck, that was. At least this was not his wedding day. Or was it? No, he might have been hammered, but even he would not have slept through a whole day.  
So, clothes... The search was on again. Seriously, with this much searching, he should become a detective. Not that he, as yet, had much success.  
Conclusion: when you wake up drunk you are screwed in more than one way.  
Yep, he should have known as much. The only items of clothing were the fucking nun's habit and the heels, once more neatly placed over and respectively under a chair. Well, it was still better than his present pretty much non-existent attire.  
Second conclusion: With friends like this one didn't need any enemies.  
Swearing ceaselessly he pulled the habit over his head.

Damn, what now?

The sheep had started bleating again as if in pain. Okay, he got it, his state of dress was painful to look at, to say the least, but come on... - Shit, he knew that sound! This slightly unsettling rattle that reminded one strongly of a bloke with congestion taking a dump. He had not noticed its agony before when he was busy with his own malady, but really it was frickin' November. Not the usual time at all. Possible, but come on!  
After a mere minute, the bleating ceased. But just to be sure he still ran his hands over the animal.

Nope, he had not been wrong. The beast was lambing and looking closer it was blatantly obvious, too. It did happen once in a while, had even become fashionable in some parts of the country to spread the lambing season throughout the year, but not in Derbyshire for all he knew. Right, taking the time it would not be long by his estimation. Perhaps an hour or two.

And at least he was pretty much sober now. Everyone should wake up to a lambing sheep after a night out. Best recipe for sobering up ever.  
But seriously, how on earth had his friends managed to pick the presumably only pregnant animal among his flock? There was some reason to doubt it had been done on purpose. Neither Richard, Edward, George or Charles had much of an idea when it came to farming, nor had his uncle for that matter. Right, there was good reason to assume that, in all likeliness, it had been the slowest of the many sheep they had tried to catch. And this or the other way this needed taking care of. Just swell!

A little over an hour later the little creature was born and trying to get up already. Cheeky bugger!

Not an easy feat on the soft mattress and especially not with such shaky legs. But heck it was cute! Okay, they always were, no two ways about it.  
He had just been about to leave, mustering up his courage to exit his room, which in the state he was now in, with all the grime from the birth adding to his attire, had to be considerable, for he was bound to run into people at this time of day, when someone knocked on the door rather harshly.  
'Will?'  
Shit! It was Elizabeth and she sounded none too happy. Justly so, he supposed. He was in trouble. Eh, or more precisely in even more trouble than he had been a minute ago.  
'Be there in a sec, honey.'  
Shit! Shit! Shit!  
The sheep bleated again, this time sounding content with itself and the world.  
'What did you say?' she asked in an irritated manner.  
He did not wonder at it. He would be irritated, too.  
'Nothing, sweety,' Darcy quickly answered trying to escape the inevitable.  
No, no such luck.  
He saw the doorknob turn and then the door was flung open to reveal a tense-looking Elizabeth dressed up as a chicken.

Eh, okay... Cute. And anyhow, who was he to judge?  
She blinked once, then twice looking from one creature to the other while Darcy only managed to stammer flatly: 'It's not what it looks like.'  
Darn, he should at least have taken the suspender off the sheep, but he had completely forgotten about them somehow.  
Elizabeth still had not said a word. Her mouth was agape her eyes round like saucers but at long last, the corners of her mouth started twitching and a moment later she was in stitches, toppling over laughing.  
'Damn, I knew something was up when Fitz told me where I would find you, grinning like a Cheshire Cat, but this truly exceeds all my expectations,' she finally gasped. 'I like that lipstick on you. Very sophisticated. - By the way, do I need to ask you to take a paternity test?'  
Lipstick? Paternity test? - Ah, right, his bedmate.  
'Eh, no. It's mine, I admit to it.'  
Well, it was his in a sense, after all, he was the owner.  
She laughed again and finally walked over to him, still grinning broadly and holding her sides. Her feathery tail was wagging quite adorably.  
'So I take it your stag night was as horrible as you have anticipated it to be?'  
'No, it was only the waking up that went a little out of hand.'  
'A little?' she gawked, waving her hand at the scene before her with an arched eyebrow.  
'Okay, more like a lot, admittedly, but the evening was actually really nice. Good food, fantastic wine, good service, nice conversation, in short near perfect - if only you had been there as well, there would have been nothing for me to wish for.'  
'I guess that would have defied its purpose.'  
'Probably. How was your party?'  
'Lovely as well.'  
'And the waking up?'  
'Not even remotely as spectacular as yours, by all appearances. I only had to push aside the huge egg-shaped cushions I was sitting on and scramble out of the heap of straw that somehow found its way into my bed. - Just like me. At one point I just passed out. Without the help of alcohol, I might ad, but then again, I am always tired these days.'  
Pulling her into his arms for a kiss he muttered under his breath: 'Well, better than water balloons, for sure.'  
'Do I even want to know? - Bah, you stink of alcohol.'  
'Sorry, love. - But to answer your question, nope, one day we should simply write a book about how we met and then we can recall all of this and have a good laugh.'  
'Sounds like a plan, though I doubt anyone would ever believe this really happened. So, then let's get over to the house, shall we?'  
'Eh, you could not by any chance bring me a change of clothes?'  
'Sorry, but nope. Do you think I would still be dressed up like this if I had the key to our dressing rooms? - And I don't fit into Georgiana's things and Charles somehow managed to put Jane's suitcase in there as well, so... - But after they had everything prepared Charles thought Jane had the key, Jane thought Fitz had it and then Eddy said that he last saw it on the table in the entrance hall when Mama and Aunt Catherine left for Derby. So let's keep our fingers crossed that it has somehow ended up with them for otherwise we are screwed.'  
'Big time, chicken pie.'  
"Yep, Sister Will. - Eh, what do we do about the sheep?'  
'You carry the little one and I drag the mother along by its suspenders. At least then they have served a purpose.'  
Elizabeth just nodded, though her eyes still danced in amusement.

They must have been some sight for sure but there is this one point where one, in all honesty, doesn't give a fuck anymore and they had passed that right now.

Darcy pushed the sheep into the lift gave Lizzy a hand with the lamb, pressed the button for the ground floor and a moment later all four of them approached the reception.  
A giant hen with a lamb in her wings, a nun with fancy footwear dragging a kinky sheep along - all perfectly normal, right?  
'Eh, Peter, could you please call Mrs Younge and tell her to pick up these two? Cheers, mate. - Oh, and send someone up to my room, will you? It looks a bit messy.'  
'Sure,' was all his manager's stammered reply as he reached for the phone.  
Good, that was one thing sorted. Now they only had to get back home. Thank goodness at least the key for his car was not missing and Elizabeth had had the good sense to use it. The sodding heels were killing him, sensible pumps or not. 


	58. Chapter 58 - Home Invasion

_Chapter 58:_

 _Home Invasion_

'Eh, Lizzy, what time is it?' Darcy asked tentatively when they were comfortably settled in the car, or in her case as comfortable as was possible considering that she had a bunch of feathers attached to her bum and was slightly hampered by the wide sleeves of her chicken-outfit.  
'Close to midday. Why?'  
'These wankers! They tampered with the clock. I thought I had slept the day away.'  
'As if I would let you, Will. There is far too much to do for any of us to idle around and in a couple of hours, the guests will arrive. I just hope we have enough time to eat something before the shit hits the fan.'  
'Not likely, but true, you would never have let me get away with that,' he grinned with a cheeky smile. 'That you had not dowsed me in icy cold water yet was what made me think that they might have played yet another trick on me but then the sheep happened. Damn, what a morning! But I guess it could have been worse.'  
'Worse?' Elizabeth exclaimed incredulously.  
'Well, they could have dumped me at the train station or something along those lines. I really should be grateful for their consideration.'  
Will's voice dripped with sarcasm, so much so that it was hard to concentrate on driving as laughter shook her body. Eventually, Elizabeth had to stop doubling over once again.

Well, come on, the situation was hilarious, right? The expression on Peter's face alone, when they had given the sheep into his care had been priceless. Which, by the way, begged the question, how Edward, George Fitz and Charles had managed to get the creature into the hotel in the first place without anybody noticing.  
'Nothing as easy as that,' Darcy replied to her question, shrugging his shoulders with a wry grin, while she started the engine again. 'First of all, the staff was only due to come in at about nine, since the only guests staying are actually our own wedding guests most of which arrive only today, and secondly, where there is a will, there is a laundry trolley...'  
Okay, she had not thought about that. Sounded plausible enough. And practical.  
'You should see what people smuggle into a hotel via that means. Or out of it, for that matter. - By the way, never trust a chef.'  
'Why?'  
'Simple, they are chefs.'  
Right, that was cryptic, to say the least, though Charlotte had mentioned something along those lines as well, and on more than one occasion. Should she be scared? Probably, but John and Terry actually seemed to be harmless enough...

Okay, so did many a serial killer, thinking about it. Perhaps it was better to change the topic, and at any rate, they had reached the back of Pemberley House. There was the back door. Safety! Unless...  
Yep, it was a matter of course that her mother and Aunt Cathy arrived in a cab the very moment she and Darcy climbed out of their car. Well, Uncle Eddy had been in no condition to drive just yet and fortunately he was sensible enough to admit to it. That was at least something. Drinking and driving were so not on!  
'Lizzy, what the heck are you _wearing_?' he mother duly screeched hardly that the door of the taxi had opened.  
'Why, what's wrong with my clothes?' Elizabeth inquired innocently, though with more than just a hint of sarcasm and not without rolling her eyes.  
Trust her mother to point out the obvious and most touchy subject at present. As if anyone in their right mind would run around like an oversized chicken just because they fancied to. Duh!  
'You look like a giant chicken. Seriously, these fashions nowadays!' Mrs Bennet kept on scolding, while Lady Catherine stared at her nephew in turn with an expression of such incredulity that Elizabeth was almost certain she would suffer a stroke at any given moment now.  
But then, all of a sudden, her mother's face broke out in the widest smile she had ever seen in a person. One could at least make two out of it and still have those people grinning like Cheshire Cats. And before she could anticipate what was to come, she was almost smothered by her mother's embrace.  
'Oh, my dear dear Lizzy! A baby! For real this time! I am soooooooooooooo happy! I will be a grandmother! And at only forty-five! Ha, and Patty is already fifty-three! Charlotte might be further along, but still, technically I'll be a grandma before her, right?' Fanny Bennet screeched, none too gently ruffling her daughter's feathers.  
Literally. Shit, that fucking onesie was actually static, sizzling with electricity. At least no sparks were flying as yet. The little things, remember?  
'We will have to buy all new things for the little one and make the nursery look really nice. Do you know yet if it will be a boy or a girl?'  
OMG! NOOOOOOOO...  
'Mum, I am only a couple of weeks along, so no, I don't know if it's going to be a boy or a girl. But at least I am sure it will be one of the two.'  
'Have you had an ultrasound yet? You could be having twins. My grandma was a twin and you know these things run in the family. Ooooh, two little bundles of joy! I am so overwhelmed!'  
Really? Hm, must be every second or third generation then, apparently.  
'Mum, we only found out yesterday. So no, no ultrasound. No twins as far as we know - and mum, you have only just bought a shit-load of baby stuff.'  
'Yes, but that we'll need at Longbourn for when you come to visit.'  
Argh... - This was what doomsday must be like when it finally came.

At least Aunt Catherine seemed to have recovered from her shock and surprisingly enough, she was giggling.  
'Now, Will, this is actually a lot better than for you to wake up in my lingerie on the front steps of Matlock,' she gasped from between snickers of suppressed laughter. 'At least you don't show your assets this time around.'  
Will blushed furiously, but then again, it was one thing if one's mates saw one like that, but one's middle-aged aunt was an altogether different kettle of fish. And what was it she had just said? She had heard that right, right?  
Will also seemed to have picked up on it for suddenly he stuttered, turning a faint green hue: 'You know about that? - Wait, _your lingerie_?!'  
'Oh, never mind, nephew. It was a bit itchy for my taste anyway. Nothing as bad as irritated nipples at the end of the day.'  
Though Elizabeth had to agree with the overall statement, this was decidedly too much information! Ugh! Hole anywhere? One to disappear into and hide for all eternity?  
'Yes, one really has to take care of such things. Speaking of nipples, Lizzy, are you going to breastfeed?' Mrs Bennet piped up again.  
Okay, slightly safer ground at the moment and that was to be seen in comparison, but still frickin' embarrassing.  
'I have heard it has become quite fashionable these days,' her mother prattled on before Elizabeth could throw in a word and finally steer the conversation to decidedly more appropriate topics. 'Not that I would ever have done something so uncivilised. I preferred the good old bottle, just like in the olden days.'  
'Eh, mum, the only reason why women have breasts, from an evolutionary point of view, _is_ to feed their offspring.'  
'Nonsense! It's just one of these newfangled notions these eco-folks came up with. It's not as if we are some kind of mammal.'  
'Well, technically we are just that,' Darcy threw in and immediately seemed to regret it as his almost mother in law turned on him, hands on her hips.  
'What rubbish! That is so typical for men to think so. As soon as they have a chance to stare at a woman's tits they are all for it.'  
'Eh, sorry to interrupt your very interesting conversation, but I think I better get going...' the cabby suddenly spoke up behind them, making everyone wheel around and stare at him in some sort of shock.  
Bless him though! He could not have chosen a better time for interrupting them. Shame he had not thought of doing so earlier, but perhaps they had just not heard him. Clearing one's throat didn't do much when her mother was speaking, especially not if she was speaking of babies.  
'Sure. Sorry for the delay. It is a bit of a chaotic day today. I'll just go and get some money,' Darcy stammered with what was left of his dignity, adding: 'How much do we owe you?'  
'Seventy-eight Pounds and ninety p.'  
'Will be right back. That is if I manage to get inside without breaking my bloody feet. - Argh, fuck it!'  
With a decided expression, Darcy took his pumps off and marched into the house barefooted.  
'Wedding coming up?' the driver asked, looking almost disinterestedly at the departing nun.  
'Yep,' Elizabeth shrugged. 'Obvious, hm?'  
'Yep. Should have seen what they did to me on my stag night! Fortunately, I woke up just in time to get off the train to France, but as soon as I did so, I was duly arrested for indecent exposure... - On the morning of my wedding, no less. Lesson learned. Never have a stag-do the very night before you get hitched for good.'  
'Did you make it on time?' Elizabeth couldn't help asking.  
Shit, by the sounds of it, they had gotten away lightly. Who would have thought?  
Grinning the cabby replied: 'Only just, and in prison garb, but hey, at least I had something on my back. And we are still married, believe it or not. Ten years and counting. The missus says that she's seen the worst of me that very day and that nothing could shock her ever again. Bloody right she was there.'  
'You know, you have just made me feel a lot better,' she sighed. But it was actually the truth.

Damn, and there she had thought their relatives' bad-ass pranksters! By the sounds of it, they were rather harmless in comparison.  
'Pleasure. Sexy outfit, by the way.'  
'Sexy? She looks like a hen! Lizzy, whatever possessed you to run around like that?'  
Okay, back to starting point, it seemed. Cheers, a bunch!  
'Our clothes are locked in the dressing rooms and we've lost the keys. You don't happen to have taken them with you by accident?'  
'Why would I take the keys to your dressing room? To Shangri La? Ah, what a lovely time we had, didn't we, Cathy? That masseur chappie was really good at what he did. I feel as good as new. And that face mask! Whoo, so lovely.'  
'Yes, but I shouldn't have asked what it was made out of,' Lady Catherine shrugged. 'It kind of creeped me out after I got the answer, I have to admit."  
'Why? What was it made of?'  
'Snail mucous.'  
'Ewwww! Why did you have to tell me?'  
'Well, you asked,Fanny,' Catherine de Bourgh stated matter of factly. 'Besides, your face is as smooth as a baby's bottom, so it worked. I wonder if that's something I can adapt for Rosings...'  
Okay, time to get back to the actual matter at hand before the two of them came up with the idea of having any other creepy crawlies slime up their faces.  
'Have you seen the keys, Aunt Cathy?'  
'No, sorry, Lizzy.'  
Shit!  
'Can't you just have a look in your handbag, please?' Elizabeth couldn't help pleading. 'Just to make sure.'  
With a tone of complete conviction her mother replied curtly: 'Lizzy, I never lose any keys!'  
As did Lady Catherine. No surprise there. They would, of course, never accidentally take the _wrong_ keys, either. - Yeah, right, and she never ran around like a chicken...  
Okay, they would have to break the door down then. Sod it! She'd had enough. And since her mother had accidentally charged her fuzzy attire when rubbing her daughter's back, the whole thing felt pretty itchy now.

Ten minutes and a paid taxi fare later that was just what they did. Thank goodness, Will had a crowbar in his car. She was very definitely marrying a practical man!

By now even Jane's patience had begun to run short and she seemed to be heartily sick of running around like a fuzzy Teddy bear and that had to say something, considering that Jane was the very ensign of patience. But seriously, who the heck had come to the conclusion that onesies were practical in any shape or form? Just to go to the loo proved to be a major operation. However, no need to worry about that any longer, the door was open at long last. Or rather both of them, her own and Will's dressing room respectively. Whoohoo!  
Elizabeth had never thought to be so happy at the sight of proper clothing. Jeans and T-shirts were the most beautiful thing in the world right now. Unbeatable. Ah, and there was her wedding dress, too, and just as lovely as she remembered it to be, if not even more so.  
Another twenty minutes later both Jane and her, as well as Will, were back downstairs wearing their usual attire. Finally!

It was just as well, for their first guests arrived in the shape of their father, Aunt Melanie and her Uncle Edward (they would have to take care not to mix up all the Edwards in their respective families) as well as their three children and the remaining Lucases, closely followed by Penny, who immediately took a bee-line towards Aunt Cathy. No surprise there.  
So much for grabbing some food and catching breath, though. What were they doing here already? Well, never mind. She was actually quite glad to see her aunt and uncle as well as her father. It meant that at least some sensible people were here to make up for all the crazies they were to expect.

And sure enough, all of a sudden, Pemberley House was buzzing like a beehive when all Elizabeth wanted to do was take a short nap, right after a nice cuppa and a sandwich, maybe. Shit, why did she have to think of sodding pickles all of a sudden? But seriously, she really wanted some. Badly! No such luck however as yet another group of people piled in through the door.  
The Kings had arrived, all three of them and, probably unavoidably, Monica Long and her disgruntled looking hubby Harry, usually referred to as Very. Okay, he never looked any different so that didn't say much. He was basically the Buster Keaton of Meryton, and actually, he was just as funny once he opened his lips. Her father and Very Long together were a sure recipe for some well measured stone-dry humour and throw in Sir Willy for good measure and you had the masses rolling on the floor. So at least it wouldn't get boring.  
Ah, and there was Aunt Rosie and Uncle James and George Wickham...  
What the fuck? Yeah sure, the young officer was most certainly not a man to pass on any party if he had the chance. Not if the booze was for free at any rate. But come on, they had chatted less than a handful of times, and that was it. One couldn't even call him as much as an acquaintance, could one?  
'Hey, Lizzy!' he smiled broadly as if his appearance was all she could have possibly desired. 'How are you? You look stunning, do you know that?'  
Plastering a false smile onto her face she answered sweetly: 'Great! Thank you, George. And you?'  
Not that she really gave a fuck. In all honesty, she had almost forgotten all about him. Who the heck was George Wickham anyway?  
'Oh, the usual. You know a soldier's life can be trying. Just finished my last night shift this morning. - Oh, hi Lyddy, Kitty and Mary, of course.'  
Did she imagine it, or did Lydia look slightly exasperated?  
'Hi George,' her youngest sister replied flatly, adding a mumbled 'creep' only Elizabeth seemed to have caught.  
So nope, she had not imagined it and yes, she kind of agreed as she watched him graze his eyes over the crowd where they finally caught on Mary King, or more precisely her impressive décolletage that, considering the cold weather, she had squeezed into a completely unsuitable crop top. Since when had Mary turned into some kind of Gloria-clone? She had always been more of a shy kind of girl, but now she was openly flirting with Wickham and none too subtly as well.  
'So great of you to remember an old friend, Lizzy. Imagine how surprised I was when I got your invitation. And from your mum in person!' Wickham mumbled distractedly.  
Yes, and that she hadn't sent him an actual card should have been kind of a giveaway that _her_ guestlist didn't include him. Okay, not that all the other surprise guests were much bothered about that fact.  
Shit, any time now and he would be drooling at the sight of Mary King's tits. Hm, either she wore a very well fitting push-up bra or she recently had a boob job, but never mind anyway.  
And besides who the heck was _that_? She knew the people by sight, but hell, had she even spoken to them before now? Besides a polite greeting that was? Not that she knew of. Well, sod it, they were there now, there was little they could do now. Not without causing a minor scandal of sorts. At least they were polite and well spoken. The little things...  
Seriously, after tomorrow, she would close the door and shut herself up with Will for as long as was humanly possible.

Then again, if they had survived all of this up until now, chances were that they could weather any storm that was to come in the future.

Okay, save perhaps for the arrival of the baby...

Or her mother pitching up to prepare the nursery...

Gods, she dreaded to even think about it.  
There was only one thing to be done. They had to anticipate her! Ha, good plan. She would start painting the nursery on Monday straight away. Better be safe than sorry. Oh, and there would be no posters of babies riding unicorns and no glittery hearts and crap like that. And no kitschy pink or baby blue. Neutrals would do just fine.  
'Oh, hello,' Elizabeth stammered as someone took her hand and confused she looked up into Will's amused face.  
'Well, hello beautiful. You were miles away, just now, weren't you?' he smiled warmly.  
'Yep. Is something the matter?'  
'Nope, but Mrs Reynolds insists that we should eat, and my tummy agrees with her order. How about yours?'  
'Too. But the guests?'  
'Oh, I'm sure my uncle would love to take over for the next couple of hours. With the help of his sons, of course.'  
'A little payback of sorts?'  
Darcy only smirked in reply before leading her away. Not that that took much. Bloody hell, whatever she had imagined, this exceeded pretty much everything she had come up with.

The Bakers and Brannigans and Smiths and Walters' all had followed her mother's invitation as well as Mrs Harris, Yasmin Carey, the Hills and several others.  
By the looks of it, they would need more tables and chairs from the hotel. Swell! And that on top of all these people arriving early. Damn, she hadn't even had the time to do more than greet her favourite aunt and uncle in passing...

Okay, for now, pickles and a cup of tea and nothing else mattered. Not right now.


	59. Chapter 59 - Chaos-management 101

_Chapter 59:_

 _Chaos-management 101_

When Elizabeth and he returned to the hall about an hour later, it had only gotten worse. It was jam-packed with people now, but at least they all seemed to be fairly happy, and his uncle, as Darcy was promptly informed had called at the hotel to have the holiday cottages re-opened, that had only been closed three weeks ago. But in the end, there had been no other alternative to house all _their_ guests.  
On the upside, these guests were now cheerfully carrying over tables and chairs from the hotel under the command of Sir Willy, or at least that was what Elizabeth called the man, who currently stood right next to the Earl, shouting orders left right and centre in a tone of voice that stemmed so obviously from years in the military there was no mistaking it, while Mr Bennet had taken up a position on one of the chairs next to the fireplace, looking extremely entertained.

Speaking of Mr Bennet, heck, where was his wife? And for that matter, where was his aunt?  
Charles, Fitz, George and Eddy, as well as that weird guy he had seen with Elizabeth in Meryton, were rummaging around one of the larger saloons pushing the furniture aside before it was carried off to a smaller parlour and out of the way to have somewhere to go with all the additional tables. Wow, military efficiency at its finest.  
Well, the whole scene did resemble a battlefield, so that was quite fitting. The question was just, who was winning? At the moment he wasn't all that certain. Seemed as if the furniture had a decided advantage.  
'Oh, dear me, where do all these people come from all of a sudden?' he heard someone say from behind him.  
Okay, that answered the question as to where Mrs Bennet was.  
'Lizzy, Will, did you really have to invite so many people? Oh, my poor nerves! And all this hubbub so shortly before the wedding! I don't quite know how to deal with it...'  
Now, really?

Next to him, Elizabeth tensed taking in a deep breath before letting it out again very slowly. Yep, his sentiments exactly. He didn't dare say something for fear he would finally blow up in Mrs Bennet's face.  
'Are you sure this room will be large enough?' his soon to be mother in law carried on in a wailing tone, bustling past them and into the salon, half its original furniture still inside, while the first tables were already lined up. 'Well, at least it has a nice set of double doors leading towards the main dining room...'  
Ah, there was Anne, carrying a stack of freshly ironed table cloths, Georgiana trudging behind her with a tray of mismatched candelabras from all over the house including the Christmas ones and a horrid looking thing trying to pass as a miniature version of the Angel of the North, wherever that came from. Probably either from Caroline Bingley or Louisa Hurst, considering that they had relatives living up north near Scarborough, which wasn't far of from the location of the original.  
'Fitzwilliam, stop standing in the way! Don't you see that there are people trying to get things done?'  
Right, there was his aunt also. Not that she ever was very far away when Mrs Bennet was somewhere. Not these days anyway. And not that she herself bothered to lend a hand or got out of the way, as always. Nothing new there then.  
'Elizabeth, could you go and pick up the flowers, please? You completely forgot to order them, dear! Happens. Pregnancy can make one forgetful, I know that full well. But thank goodness, I thought of calling the shop and set them to rights that it's not only a bouquet we need for tomorrow but also the decoration for the tables. So they are just now seeing what they can do...'  
Okay, he took that back, she had done something, but not at all what she was supposed to do. That would have been the other alternative. He preferred the first one, truth be told.  
'But...' was all Elizabeth could stammer, before his aunt had also disappeared into the salon, fiddling around with the curtains while talking animatedly with her new BFF.  
Did he need to worry? Presumably.  
And as it was, Lizzy and he _had_ taken care of the flowers, just not in the way his aunt thought they should. He was pretty sure that Mrs Younge and his head-gardener were just now busy decorating the chapel with garlands of colourful leaves and the same they would have done with the tables, _but_... - Ah, well, never mind!  
They would do better to just let it go.

Let it go, let it go... - Now that bloody tune stuck in his head. Fantastic! The soundtrack to their life at present, along "She drives me crazy".  
'Okay, I guess your aunt and my mum have won that round,' Lizzy sighed, bringing him back to reality. 'I'll get going then. At least I can escape this madhouse for an hour or so.'  
'As long as you come back...' he replied wryly.  
'After all we've been through in the last couple of weeks? Of course, I'll come back! I'm not willing to sacrifice my sanity for nothing, you know?'  
'Good.'  
Elizabeth pecked him on the cheek before turning around on her heel and making her way to the back of the house once again and before he himself had any time to ponder on that he actually would've liked to go with her, he was duly dragged into the dining room by his friend.  
'Okay, we got this far, but it'll be a tight fit for all those additional people. I've sent Charlotte over to the hotel to speak to the chef and Jane is gone to get some paper napkins and more cards for the menus, but we'll have to print them out if we don't want to write them until deep into the night... - Damn, mate, I thought you had everything taken care of!'  
'I - we, that is - _had_ and then our house got invaded by a bunch of strangers my almost mother in law invited without telling us about. Had it not been for Lydia, we would've been completely unprepared. Not that we thought that _this_ many people would pitch up. By the way, where are Mary, Kitty and Lydia?'  
Bingley's countenance turned from cheerful reproach to an incredulous and slightly scared one.

Well, he had all of this before him as yet if he meant to marry Jane. And seriously, there was little doubt about that. If he had any sense, he and Jane would go on a holiday to Vegas... - But even if they didn't at least they would have some idea of what to reckon with. Not that that was much consolation.  
'Well, Mary has retreated to the library to catch up on her school work, and I'm not quite sure about Kitty and Lydia. They must be somewhere...' his friend, finally, stammered looking about himself somewhat confusedly as if waking from a daze.  
Yep, and sure enough, there they were, carrying stacks of plates. Bless them!

How they had managed to have everything prepared at the end of the day was beyond him, but somehow they had.

The chaos had eventually subsided after little more than three hours and the tables were laid out neatly enough, though the cacti some of them now sported for lack of other blossoms did look a wee bit out of place. Well, the flower shop had to improvise somehow. It was not a large shop, to begin with, and at this time of day, the central market in Derby had closed already. At least they hadn't resorted to using funeral decoration, that ways something.  
The same, by the way, applied to his own kitchen. Needing to improvise that was. The chefs had been close to walking out after hearing that the number of people they now had to cook for had more than doubled, had it not been for Lottie and her diplomatic skills. But asking any of them to make dinner for all the people would have been too much of a stretch, surely. Especially when they now had to work overtime in order to have everything prepared for tomorrow and when they literally had been about to go home. And if that wasn't enough already, Terry first had to go shopping... - Fingers crossed that Sainsbury's had enough fresh meat and veggies lying around, otherwise he would have to hit a couple of more shops to get what was needed.  
Well yes, the folks from the pizza service had been rather stunned when he had ordered one hundred family-sized pizzas with whatever topping they chose and they had to make several batches and rounds to get them all to Pemberley, but hey, at least they did good business. Pizza also didn't require plates or cutlery to eat. Another bonus. And who didn't like pizza? Well aside from his aunt who grumbled something about this being completely inappropriate for his station in life and hers in particular, only to be silenced by her brother shoving a large piece of extra hot pepperoni pizza down her gob. Take that!

At long last, it was time to fall into bed.

Though it was only about half past eight, Lizzy's eyes were drooping and he was knackered as well. Shit, what a day they'd had!

It could only get better, right? Honestly, Darcy didn't really want to think about what could go wrong on their wedding day. And seriously, there still was a lot that could but nope, no going there! All he wanted to do right now was snuggle up to Elizabeth and fall asleep. The last night together where they were not married. He-he, the last time of some sinful pleasure instead of marital duty. Ugh, what a horrible term for something so pleasant! As if a ring on one's finger made having sex any less fun. Or did it? Not very likely, if one thought about it.  
'Lizzy, you can't sleep in the same room as Will!' Mrs Bennet screeched, just when the door had been about to close behind them.  
If one throttled one's mother in law, would that be considered self-defence? It bloody well should be.  
'Why not, mum?' Elizabeth yawned, tiredly leaning against him in complete exhaustion.  
'It's the night before your wedding, dear. You will _have_ to sleep in separate rooms. It's the _tradition_.'  
'Well, if that is the case," Elizabeth sighed theatrically and trudged over to her own room, while her mother, with an annoyingly pleased grin, turned and climbed up the stairs.  
WTF? Elizabeth couldn't be serious. Hey, what about him? He wanted a cuddle! Was that too much to ask after such a trying day? He bloody well deserved one!

Stunned Darcy stood in the hallway, as his bride disappeared into her own chamber and it took him a full three minutes to turn and enter his own bedroom only to find a knackered but grinning Elizabeth within. Ah, sneaky! And quite ingenious, really. Evading a pointless discussion by simply complying, while both of them still got what they wanted, namely a night in each other's arms.  
By the way, why was it, Mrs Bennet had gone _up_ the stairs? Her room was only a little down the hallway right next to Aunt Catherine's... - Well, never mind, he would find out soon enough.

Slipping under the covers right next to Elizabeth, his bride, no sooner had their heads hit the pillows when they had fallen asleep. Or rather sunken into a blissful kind of coma. 


	60. Chapter 60 - Pat and Jess

_Chapter 60:_

 _Pat and Jess_

'Lizzy, time to get up and ready. You will want to look your best on your wedding day and we have so much to do! The hairdresser will be here shortly' Mrs Bennet twittered from some way down the corridor, knocking repeatedly against a door with the same annoyingly fast-paced rhythm.  
Shortly? Bloody hell, a glance at his alarm clock told him that it was not even half past five in the frickin' morning. Darcy was an early riser, but that was decidedly too early even for him.  
'Lizzy, where are you? I thought I told you that you had to sleep separately! Oh, my _poor_ _nerves_! Does no-one do what they are supposed to these days?'  
That blasted woman had obviously stepped into her daughter's vacant bedroom. Any moment now and... - Yep, of course, there his mother in law came barging in just when he had realised that he needed to take a wee. One of the curses a man had to deal with on a regular basis early in the morning. Great!  
Just in time, Darcy managed to roll onto his side. Not that Mrs Bennet took much notice of him anyway, mainly focusing on her wayward daughter who had buried her face under her pillow in sheer exasperation.  
'Now really, Lizzy! Come on, hop-hop, out of bed.'  
Next to him, Elizabeth groaned, lowering her fluffy shield: 'Mum, go back to sleep. I'll be ready soon enough. It's still dark outside.'  
'But we have so much to do, dear. You need to take a nice long relaxing bath and have your nails painted and then I will ask Jane to do your makeup and then the hairdresser... - You will have to look your best, my dear. We hardly have a moment to lose! Oh, I'm all in a flutter already!'  
Of course, his almost mother in law was in a flutter. Wasn't she bloody always?

Oh, shit, tomorrow this time she actually would _be_ his mother in law. On the upside at least then he was allowed to openly avoid her as much as he possibly could as pretty much any son in law habitually and with a sense of self-preservation would. Right? RIGHT?  
Oops, and there the blanket was resolutely pulled away. It would not be so bad if it didn't happen to be a double and also left him naked likewise. Okay, to show off one's rear was preferable to the front even though it was slightly uncomfortable. He congratulated himself on his quick reaction despite his still drowsy brain. But at least his question was answered, yes avoiding ones mother in law was essential to a happy marriage and, more importantly, to retain one's sanity.  
'Why are you two naked?'  
Did Mrs Bennet really just ask that? Obviously yes.

And not only that, she hadn't bloody moved an inch and neither had she averted her eyes. Okay, at least she wasn't ogling, just persistently looking at them with some impatience, which in all honesty was already unsettling enough.  
'Because we always do, mum!' Elizabeth mumbled her cheeks as red as a beet. 'Now will you please let us get up in peace? - And without staring at us?'  
'Always?' Mrs Bennet gasped, shocked. 'But what if you get cold, dear, and get sick? You need to think about the little ones.'  
'Little _one_ , mum. One _baby_!'  
'Oh, but as yet you can't be certain, 'Mrs Bennet prattled on determinedly. 'Remember your great-grandmother. She and her sister looked so much alike, as a child they always had me confused. - But never mind, we'll see who's right. But I tell you I am pretty sure it'll be at least one boy. I mean, I had all girls, so the odds are high for boys, I'd say. But if it's girls, that's fine with me, too. But I tell you it'll be the one or the other.'  
No shit?  
'Eh, Fanny, could you _please_ leave?' Darcy finally managed to chip in, trying to sound as polite as he possibly could.  
Yep, while showing off his buttocks might be less embarrassing to have on display but it also meant increasing pressure on his bladder...

This now was the second morning in a row that he woke up trapped in a situation he hadn't even dreamed of in one of his weirdest dreams.  
'Why? We are almost family Will. No need to be shy. It's not as if I have never seen a naked man before. After all, I've had five daughters and they weren't delivered by the stork...'  
TMFI! Far too MFI! There were things one really better not think about and one of these things is your parents or your in-laws having sex. Or any of your older relatives for that matter.  
'Mum, please!' Elizabeth seconded him, dragging herself out of bed and with the most dignified expression she could muster left for her own room pulled her mother with her.  
Thank goodness!

Loo, shower, shave and eh, what then? At such an early hour he could pull out his stubble hair by hair and still be done way before it was time to leave for the chapel. Yet somehow going back to bed didn't seem fair on Lizzy. Painting nails wasn't an option either, nor did he need to see the hairdresser since he had taken care of that a week ago already. Right, tea was always the best option to start a day and so, slipping into his pyjama bottoms and a T-shirt, Darcy made his way downstairs and to the kitchen only to find his nearly father in law kneeling in front of the stove blowing on the tender flame within.  
'Morning, Tom. You know we've got a pair of bellows...'  
Mr Bennet only waved his hand in acknowledgement and blew on undeterred.  
'Is there any particular reason why you are up already, Tom?' Darcy couldn't help asking after a couple of more minutes watching the man.  
At least Mr Bennet got up from his knees and turned around. His face was all black and sooty. What the heck had he been using to start the fire?  
'Eh, I would say my wife is good enough reason, wouldn't you? I guess she's also responsible for you being up at this ungodly hour?'  
'Yep.'  
'Why am I not surprised? Ah yes, I've been married to her for the past twenty-four years...' Tom Bennet grinned, plunking down on the chair beside him. 'So, I'm going to be a granddad? You don't waste any time, do you?'  
Whether the man was actually pleased or not was impossible to discern since he sported the same wry expression as pretty much always.  
'Eh, no.'  
'What about Lizzy's studies?'  
Okay, not pleased...  
'Well, that's completely up to her,' Darcy replied. 'She's already contacted the university in Derby and as far as I know is intending to finish them, though that was before she knew she was pregnant. So, whichever way she chooses, I'll be backing her up. I mean, I'm working from home, so to say, so I'll be there and Derby isn't that far away, so it won't be too bad to drive every day, not by car. Or alternatively, Lizzy could finish her diploma via an Open University or a combination of both.'  
'What if she chooses to ditch her studies?'  
'I would support her then as well, though only after trying to persuade her to carry on. After all she's put a lot of work into them already and it would be a shame if she didn't finish her degree. But as said, in the end, it's up to her.'  
'Good, I see we are of one mind then, my boy. - By the way, do you know that my wife is already planning on how to decorate the nursery upstairs?'  
'She _what_?' Darcy all but yelled, somewhat panicked.  
This really didn't bode well, did it? What if out of nothing parcel upon parcel arrived on their doorstep with stuff like grinning potties in various colours? One for every room in the house? Or armies of stuffed toys? Or a romper suit for every single hour of the first year...

Judging by what she had bought already, it was far from impossibe.  
'Okay, you obviously aren't aware of it...' Tom Bennet sighed slapping Darcy on the back in a fatherly manner.  
'Well, now I am. Do I need to be scared?'  
'It's my wife we're talking about, Will.'  
'So I take that as a yes,' Darcy mumbled before he could check his tongue, producing a chuckle from Mr Bennet in return.  
Shit, so that was where she had been heading last night... - Oh, fuck _NO_!  
Okay, mate, breathe. There was little she could have done in such a short amount of time, right? At least he hoped so. But when he considered that he spoke of the one woman who turned into Taz the Tasmanian Devil as soon as she just heard the word "baby" perhaps that was a wee bit optimistic.  
'Where are you heading?' Mr Bennet asked, when Darcy quickly jumped up from his seat.  
'The nursery. I need to lock it asap before it is too late,' Darcy replied, hoping it wasn't already and earning yet another chuckle from his bride's father.  
'Yep, better be safe than sorry, my boy. May I recommend you also bar the windows and block off the chimney?'  
'I guess that won't be necessary, the nursery is on the third floor.' Eh, on second thought... - Taz!  
'Remember, Will, where there is a will there's a ladder,' Tom warned as they jogged up the stairs.  
The man had a point. A very good one.

And...  
'Fuck me sideways!' Darcy blurted out as soon as he had opened the door to the nursery.  
This couldn't possibly be true. There was no way that Mrs Bennet had managed to do so much in as little as one night, surely. That could only mean that she had been sneaking up here for a while now. Even before she knew there was a baby on the way. The creepily grinning Postman Pat waving at him from across the room bore testimony to that, as did Jess, awkwardly standing on top of Pat's bright red car, looking as if she desperately needed to take a dump. Damn, that poor cat seemed to suffer some vicious form of constipation to sport an expression like that.  
'I see Fanny has outdone herself this time around. When the girls came along she, at least, stuck to painting flowers and butterflies on their bedroom walls. Well, since the invention of the beamer I guess that's not fancy enough anymore,' he pointed at said blasted piece of technology that looked suspiciously like the one Darcy had purchased for the hotel during the world cup earlier this year after the old one had broken down.  
And sure enough, turning it on, the picture of Pat and Jess appeared pretty much as it was on the wall if a little out of focus and with decidedly more amiable expressions.  
But Pat and his furry friend weren't so much of a problem seeing that they could be painted over easily enough and slowly but surely fade into distant memory. What Mrs Bennet had done to his lovely old rocking horse, however, was an altogether different kettle of fish. It was an _antique_ for heaven's sake! Something that had been in his family for generations. What was it with that woman's obsession with unicorns anyway? But there his most treasured toy stood sporting a sparkling horn, gleaming in all the colours of the rainbow.  
Oh, thank goodness, the glittery plastic horn was, as yet, only attached with blue tack and not some kind of super glue, and the can of bright mint green paint he spotted on an old high chair was as yet unopened. Though judging by the clingfilm covering the horse's mane and tail, it had been a close call. A very close call indeed.  
'Told you, you will have to make sure the windows are blocked and also the chimney. By the way, I hope you have taken the same precautions with the chapel...'  
'I have,' Darcy breathed out in some relief, sinking down onto the floor. 'I made sure the church is securely locked.'  
'And you have been safeguarding the key ever since?'  
Eh, well, if one counted leaving it in his Landrover's glove box inside the case that usually held his sunglasses, then yes... - Ah, and it had still been there when he had taken it out to give it to Mrs Younge. So, yes, it was safe to say that it had been securely tucked away. Besides, the hiding place had been so sneakily inconspicuous who would look for it there, right? And if anything had happened, he was pretty certain that his trusted steward would've said something.  
'Okay, breakfast and then getting ready I suppose,' Darcy once again sighed, running his hands through his hair.  
Bloody hell, this was supposed to be the happiest day of his life, but as yet it felt more like the biggest fuck-up of his existence. Well, as long as he was married to Lizzy at the end of the day, he would face every evil, including the combined force of Mrs Bennet and his aunt. Not that he had much of a choice there anyway. The devil would be easier to deal with and a lot less scary.  
'Sounds like a plan, my boy.'  
So, breakfast, shower, etc. and then impatiently pacing up and down in his room until it was time to leave for church. Piece of cake.

'


	61. Chapter 61 - My poor nerves!

_Chapter 61:_

 _My poor nerves!_

'Lizzy, time to get up and ready. You will want to look your best on your wedding day and we have so much to do! The hairdresser will be here shortly,' her mother twittered from some way down the corridor, knocking repeatedly against a door with the same annoying fast-paced rhythm.  
Shortly? Bloody hell, a glance at her alarm clock told Elizabeth that it was not even half past five in the frickin' morning. Yes, she was an early riser, but that was decidedly too early even for her.  
'Lizzy, where are you? I thought I told you that you had to sleep separately! Oh, my _poor nerves_!'  
Her mother, in her usual disregard for any of her children's privacy, had obviously stepped into her vacant bedroom. Any moment now and... - Yep, of course, their mum came barging in, hands on her hips and a mien of indignation on her face. With some exasperation, Elizabeth buried her face in her pillow, hoping that this was nothing but a bad dream, just that blinking three times in order to wake up brought nothing but the same voice drifting towards her as it had before the attempt.  
'Now really, Lizzy! Come on, hop-hop, out of bed.'  
Lowering her fluffy shield, Elizabeth groaned: 'Mum, go back to sleep. I'll be ready soon enough. It's still dark outside.'  
'But we have so much to do, dear. You need to take a nice long relaxing bath and have your nails painted and then I will ask Jane to do your makeup and then the hairdresser. We hardly have a moment to lose! Oh, I'm all in a flutter already!'  
Wow, what a surprise! But seriously, this exceeded even Elizabeth's expectations. And at any rate, she knew that tone of voice all too well, her mother would not brook any opposition. So, better scramble out of bed quickly before... - Yep, exactly because of that!

Without further ado, her mother had pulled away their blanket and thank goodness, Will had the sense of mind to roll around onto his stomach, seeing that they were both not exactly dressed.  
'Why are you two naked?'  
Eh, why indeed? Duh! One really should think that her mother would leave it at that and leave if only out of common courtesy, but nope, that was clearly too much to ask. And not only that, her mother very obviously expected an answer beyond: 'Because we can.'  
'Because we always do, mum!' Elizabeth mumbled, feeling her cheeks turn red like a tomato.  
Just a day longer and they would be alone. "Just one more day of this madness..." Elizabeth chanted in her mind like a mantra before resolutely adding: 'Now will you please let us get up in peace? - And without staring at us?'  
'Always?' Mrs Bennet gasped, shocked, though she didn't move an inch. 'But what if you get cold, dear, and get sick? You need to think about the little ones.'

Oh, bloody hell...  
'Little _one_ , mum. One _baby_!'  
Did she imagine it, or did her voice sound slightly hysterical right now?

How did people in the past manage to have several generations live peacefully under one roof without killing each other once in a while? Thinking about it, they presumably had, it had just not been recorded because it had been such a frequent occurrence, or something along those lines. Anyway, it would explain why it wasn't a common living arrangement anymore.  
'Oh, but as yet you can't be certain,' her mother prattled on determinedly as well as completely undeterred. 'Remember your great-grandmother. She and her sister were looking so much alike, as a child they always had me confused. - But never mind, we'll see who's right. But I tell you I am pretty sure it'll be at least one boy. I mean, I had all girls, so the odds are high for boys, I'd say. But if it's girls, that's fine with me, too. But I tell you it'll be the one or the other.'  
No shit?  
'Eh, Fanny, could you please leave?' Darcy finally managed to chip in, trying to sound as polite as he possibly could.  
Elizabeth really had to give him kudos for even half-way managing. Had it been _his_ mother she would have flipped by now. Big time!  
'Why? We are almost family Will. No need to be shy. It's not as if I have never seen a naked man before. After all, I've had five daughters and they weren't brought by the stork...'  
TMFI! Far too MFI! There were things one better didn't think of and one of these things was one's parents having sex. Bah! Nooooooo... That was so not a picture she wanted to have that early in the morning and most certainly not on the morning of her wedding day. Or ever actually.  
'Mum, please!' Elizabeth seconded him, dragging herself out of bed at last and with the most dignified expression, she could muster left for her own room pulling her mother with her.  
'Mum, seriously, was that really necessary?'  
'Why, what did I do? I only wanted to wake you up I could hardly guess that you were naked in your groom's bed at this time of day, could I?'  
Eh, yes, she could have and without any stretch of the imagination. However, knowing her mother to point out the obvious would be a futile effort.  
'So, I just go and wake up Jane so she can give us a hand and in the meanwhile, you can go and run yourself a nice relaxing bath, Lizzy.'  
Nice relaxing bath with her mother around? Fat chance! Oh, and as to waking Jane...  
'Mum, why don't you wait a little longer before you wake up Jane. The day will be long enough as it is, don't you think?'  
Really, it was one thing that she had to go through this kind of humiliation this early in the morning, but her sister didn't deserve to suffer the same fate, nor did Charles, even after what they had come up with for Will after his stag night, but never mind, her mother in her present state of mind was nothing she wished on her worst enemy. Hell, even Caroline Bingley didn't deserve this!  
'But who is supposed to do your nails and makeup?'  
'Mum, bath first, okay?'  
With some reluctance Mrs Bennet finally agreed, bustling into the bathroom to turn on the tap before rushing back into the bedroom and on to the dressing room, rummaging around in it for half an eternity. So long Elizabeth had the feeling that she needed to start a rescue mission when...  
'Lizzy, where is your wedding dress? You didn't let me have a look at it yet, you know?'  
Yep, and it had been for a very good reason for her mother's idea of a wedding dress was something along the lines of what Princess Diana had been wearing, just with more frills, a wider skirt and a longer train, if such a thing was possible. Plus, Elizabeth had decided against a veil and instead just purchased a couple of white silk roses to go into her hair, nothing too fancy, but plain and becoming.  
'Why, here it is,' Elizabeth sighed, pulling out her gown with some trepidation as to what would follow and sure enough.  
'You cannot be serious, Lizzy!' Fanny Bennet nearly screeched, her face a mask of shock and disappointment. 'This plain white thing? It'll make you look like a nun. I mean, I have seen it, of course, when I had a look around, but I seriously thought it was supposed to be for the wedding night or something. Really, _this_ is your wedding dress? Oh, my poor nerves! Why not wear a nightgown, to begin with? At least they sometimes have _some_ sparkle on them instead of looking so very plain.'  
'I could wear my pink Winnie the Pooh one, it's got a glittery shooting star in the background,' Elizabeth couldn't help remarking dryly.  
Okay, bad idea. Now her mother was in tears. Brilliant! Just fucking fantastic!  
'Mum, I was joking, obviously. But I will wear this gown and that is final.'  
'But I really wanted you to look beautiful on your wedding day. Just for once,' Mrs Bennet sobbed. 'You will never be as pretty as your sister Jane, but you could've at least made an attempt to look lovely on your wedding and not like a plain Jane. Is that really too much to ask? But you know what? If we go round to a bridal shop now, perhaps not all will have been in vain. Perhaps we can get you still something more suitable...'  
'NO! First of all, it is barely past six in the bloody morning and secondly I really like the dress. I mean, that's why I chose it.'  
'Well, have it your way then!' Mrs Bennet snapped, hands on her hips. 'It'll be you regretting to not having chosen something fancier when looking at your wedding pictures in a couple of years from now.'  
Which presumably was the very reason why her mother had taken down all her _own_ wedding pictures a couple of years ago. Hm, she had worn a dress that did suspiciously resemble that of the Princess of Wales. - By the way, what was this weird sound of water dripping onto something...  
Dashing into the bathroom Elizabeth stopped in her tracks in disbelief at seeing the disaster unfold before her eyes.  
Great, the overflow of the bathtub was conveniently blocked by a towel she could barely discern beneath the frothy surface.

Just what she needed on top of everything else, a minor flooding and shit, how _hot_ did her mother run the bath anyway? The water was positively scalding. She liked hot baths, but this was taking it to a whole new level, one could easily boil an egg in this one. And just how much bubble bath had her mother put into the tub? One bottle or rather two? The more the better, right?

Oops, to call the surface slippery would be like calling fire tepid. And sure enough, the thought had just crossed Elizabeth's mind, when, none too gently, she landed on her behind ending up on the frickin' rubber ducky she had gotten from Kitty for graduating from school and which now made a somewhat pathetic squeaking noise that turned into an almost sickening gargle as the water got into the squeaking mechanism, or how ever one would call that thing making the sound. Poor thing!  
'Oh, Lizzy, what did you do now? Why is the whole bathroom under water?'  
Yes, why indeed? Good question. She was pretty positive that it hadn't been her leaving the towel where it was. As a matter of fact, she had never put any towel anywhere here, since she had used this bathroom but once and that had been on her hen night and the towels she had used to nights ago had long since ended up in the wash.  
'I'll just go and get a few more towels, okay? I just turn off the water first.'  
'But by the time we've tidied up, the bath will be cold and then we have to run you another bath and the time... - Lizzy, we don't have the _time_ for all of this!'  
Yes, with any luck.  
By the way, wasn't it the bride who was supposed to be a bundle of nerves not the mother of the bride? Well, never mind, her mother's present state of mind would do for more than one wedding when it came to that.

On the upside, it could only get better from now on. So, fingers crossed.  
Shit, it was tricky to get up without any friction and nothing to hold onto within reach.  
'Morning. - Oh, bloody hell! What is this? Pandemonium or something?'  
Never in her life would Elizabeth have thought she could be this happy to hear Lydia's voice or receive her helping hands as she unceremoniously waded through the flood in the bathroom in her socks first pulling up her sister and then turning off the water at long last. Three cheers for Mary and her knitting skills! And bless Lydia also for her unexpected presence of mind.

Ever since she had been made to help around the farm, she really had grown to be a quite sensible girl. Who would have thought?  
'Okay, mum, you know where the laundry is, so I suggest you get a shit-load of towels and in the meanwhile, Lizzy and I see what we can do. Now _go_!'  
Surprisingly enough their mother complied without any further ado.  
'Thanks, Lyddy. By the way, why are you up already?'  
'I always get up around half six these days and seriously, with all that racket, who can sleep anyway? Kitty and Georgie are up as well, naturally since we all woke up from all the ruckus going on. Is that your dress? It's lovely! The fabric is absolutely stunning. Where did you get it from?'  
'Thank you. Mum thinks it's too plain. And I got it from Westerham Bridal Parlour. Actually, Lady Marjorie gave it to me after I saved her life. Long story.'  
'Ha, when I get married someday, I know where to go then,' Lydia grinned. 'Not that I'm in a rush. By the way, did you see how Wickham has been hitting on Mary King? Seriously, that guy creeps me out. He's doing that to _every_ girl, I tell you. As long as he thinks he can get into her knickers at least. I suggest you keep the bedroom doors locked tonight, just for safety, unless you want random couples romp around in your beds.'  
'You, Lyddy, start to sound astonishingly sensible, if I may say so.'  
'Someone has to be since you and Jane are out of the house, you know?' her youngest sister dead-panned.  
But she had a point. And a good one at that.  
And more importantly, Lydia managed to keep their mother busy enough for the rest of the morning as to make it possible to get ready in relative peace. Well, that was until the hairdresser arrived.  
'No, you have to do something extraordinary with your hair, Lizzy! Your dress is already so plain, at least your hair has to stand out...'  
'You are absolutely right, mum,' Lydia seconded her, much to Elizabeth's horror.

WTF?  
'You know what, Mum, why don't you go first to give Lizzy an idea of how it should be done?' Lydia continued, while Jane who was standing right behind her barely managed to suppress a grin.  
'Oh, you really think so? What a fantastic idea!' their mother beamed broadly.  
Okay, she took that back, her sister was ingenious. And as it was, about half an hour later her mother looked like a weird combo of a poodle and a flower girl.  
'Perfect! What do you say, Lizzy?'  
'Eh... - very nice. Really.'  
'Oh, shoot, is it that late already?' again her youngest sister chimed up. 'You really need to get going mum, or you won't be dressed in time. And so do I. And Jane, too.'

Pushing their mother towards the door and closing it firmly behind herself, both Lydia, Jane and Mrs Bennet finally left.

Finally! Finally a bit of peace and quiet and just leaning back in her chair and let the hairdresser do her job. A few soft curls here and there, the rest of her wild mane neatly braided and pinned into a loose bun, sophisticated and simple - perfect. Now only the roses were missing and she was ready to go. Well, almost, she wasn't as yet wearing her dress, but thankfully the woman agreed to button her up only to stare at her in awe.  
'Miss, you look absolutely stunning, if I may say so.'  
'Thank you, Maud. And you did a brilliant job, if I may say so. It's not easy to tame my hair but you managed beautifully. Now I only have to avoid my mother until it is time to go to church.' 


	62. Chapter 62 - Mamma Mia, here we go again

_Chapter 62:_

 _Mamma Mia, here we go again..._

The house was in a buzz, to say the least, and that despite most guests staying in the hotel or alternatively in the holiday homes. Actually, looking closely there were not all that many people running around like headless chickens, it just so happened that Aunt Catherine was on one side of the hall and Mrs Bennet, sporting a very weird hairdo, by the way, on the other both giving contradictory orders resulting in the staff that was to prepare for the reception after the ceremony running back and forth without accomplishing much. In short, same old, same old.  
Darcy, all dressed and ready and as nervous as any man on his wedding day, was glad to find his uncle out front already waiting for him and in him a pillar of stoic peace and quiet.

Okay, his nervousness was less based on him getting married, but on fearing how many things would get out of hand and wondering how quickly, and whether it was better to call the police, fire brigade and ambulance in advance just to give them a heads-up or wait just a little longer before the proverbial shit would hit the fan, since there was little doubt that it would.

On one hand, better be safe than sorry, on the other... - well, miracles happened. One never knew, all might go well after all, if only to spite his current trepidation. Damned if you do, damned if you don't, as always.  
'Here, take a sip, Darcy, you look peaky,' the Earl remarked casually, holding out his hip flask.  
'Eh, thanks, Uncle Edward, but I think I rather pass.'  
'Are you sure you are up to this day all sober and level-headed?'  
'Nope, but in the light of what happened the last time I got hammered, I still think being sober is the better option. And there is always later. Where is Aunt Margret?'  
'Fair enough. Oh, she's down in the kitchen helping Mrs Reynolds with the champaignglasses for the reception. - By the way, I forgot to ask, what did you do with that sheep the other day?'  
'Oh, it's still occupying the room after it made itself comfortable there. Didn't have the heart to throw it out. - I called Mrs Younge to pick it up, obviously. Or rather both of them.'  
'Both? Sure you didn't see everything double?'  
'It was lambing. Long story, one to keep for other family gatherings. In a couple of years, I might even think the situation was funny instead of deeply mortifying. For now, I would say, let's go. You know tradition has it, that I shan't see my bride before she walks down the aisle and I, for my part, am ready to leave.'  
'I guess it has something to do with my dear sister? By the way, if I may make a suggestion, park your car right at the entrance and leave the keys in the ignition so you can make your escape should it be necessary.'  
'Cheers, that really helps with keeping me calm, and yes, it has, or at least half of it.'  
'Pleasure, my lad.'  
It sure was for his uncle, seeing that he was grinning from ear to ear.  
'Oh come now, your bride will be lovely, even if she wears a sack, and you love each other, and that is all that matters, isn't it?'  
'Yes,' Darcy couldn't help smiling.  
Damn right, they loved each other and she _was_ beautiful. And then there was their little surprise... - Life was just wonderful if perhaps a bit chaotic at times. Okay, a lot, and most of the time, when his mother in law and aunt were involved, but never mind. Now he just had to repeat that over and over again: Life was wonderful, no matter what; life was wonderful, no matter what; life was wonderful, no matter what...  
They went by the stables to check how things were going with the carriages and sure enough, nothing to worry there, Phil had everything under control, which was more than he could say about himself.

It was pretty safe to say, that he had absolutely fuck all under control. Perhaps his uncle's suggestion wasn't all that bad of an idea. - No, life was wonderful, no matter what. It really, really was. Really, really!  
Besides, it wouldn't be fair to leave everybody else to cope with this chaos. But then again, it hadn't been either him or Elizabeth who had created it in the first place.  
'What the heck?' Uncle Edward suddenly blurted out, just as he pulled into the car park only to find that there was not a single square inch left to put his Rolls.  
Good question, actually. What the heck?  
There was no need to push the door to the chapel open since it already was and to his utter surprise the inside was literally swarming with people, and it was still a good forty minutes until the wedding was to take place. And, also a matter of course, none of their relatives was as yet there, while the pews were almost full already. At least they had as yet been aware enough to keep the two tiny front rows vacant, but to squeeze all of their family in there was perhaps a bit optimistic. Actually, looking closely, there were no longer only the Meryton-folks Mrs Bennet had invited so enthusiastically, nope, there were also many people from around here.

Jack, the butcher, the lady from the flower shop, Carl, the bloke who had recently purchased the farm a little down the road and, and, and. Whoever had spread the word of him getting married today, had done a thorough job it seemed.  
By the way, where did all the heart-shaped, glitter-filled balloons come from that adorned the pews, the windows, either side of the altar and most importantly the antique crucifix? He was pretty sure that they had _very clearly_ told Mrs Younge to only put up greenery.  
Ah, there she was, looking just as irate as him at the display before her, hands on her hips and her cheeks flushed with anger. A sight that made most of her staff make a run for it. Mrs Younge angry was a pretty rare occurrence but if it so happened it usually was akin a bomb exploding. A nuclear one.  
'You wouldn't know what is going on, would you?' Darcy approached her, his uncle tagging along behind him, open-mouthed - which really had to say something, considering that he was his sister's brother and the father of Eddy, George and Fitz.  
'No, and before you ask, it wasn't _me_ who put up those fugly balloons. I have no wish to get fired, you know?' she slightly smirked in reply though it was pretty obvious that she was still irked, or rather thoroughly pissed. 'Heck, they look tacky, and that is putting it nicely.'  
They did indeed. Yes, ombre, or whatever it was called when one colour bled into the next, was all the rage of late, he knew as much from Georgiana, but while the bottom bit was kind of okay, colourwise, the top bit was fucking neon-pink. Yes, _neon_ - _PINK_! And sure enough, the clear bottom exposed some more pink glitter within. Glitter, of all things! This eternal threat to one's sanity. Here, in a church of all places sacred, Satan had spawned.  
When suddenly from seemingly nowhere someone started to play cheesy ABBA-songs at high volume, the tune reverberating around the packed room, it was time to flee. No looking back, just run for dear life!

Yes, life might be wonderful, no matter what, but enough was enough. This time around life would be wonderful somewhere else. Anywhere but here.  
Plan B had just become necessary. Not that ten seconds ago he'd had a Plan B, but never mind, now he had, and he would go through with it, cost what it may. Pulling his uncle with him, Darcy literally stormed back to the car, plunked down behind the steering wheel while he left the Earl of Matlock to confusedly scramble into the passenger seat and sped off.  
'Eh, nephew, what are you doing?'  
'Getting married. But not here. Here's my mobile, call the priest and tell him to await us at his parish church in Lambton, then call Phil about the carriages and where to bring them and Tom Bennet to get our families over there. And _only_ our families. I've had it! I for my part just quickly sneak upstairs and pick up Lizzy and off we go. Sod tradition. After all, this is an emergency.'

Sneaking upstairs via the servants' staircases was, in the light of what was going on out front, pretty easy. Except for an exasperated-looking Mrs Reynolds, who by now was done with her tasks and was merely hiding out down in the kitchen, he didn't meet another soul. No, it was not that he intended to evade the party afterwards, or anything, but it wasn't exactly too much to ask to have at least a nice and peaceful ceremony, was it? And that was exactly what he would have. Okay, and _then_ perhaps think about evading the party. First things first, however, so...  
Darcy didn't even bother to knock, he just stepped into his bride's room to find... - the most beautiful woman he had ever seen. Damn, and in an hour or so, she would be his.  
Picking his jaw off the floor, all he managed to stammer was: 'I... - I'm here to pick you up. Long story. I'll tell you in the car, but I'm... - I'm afraid we need to leave right now.'  
'Okay. Is something the matter. Are you alright?'  
'Perfect, it's just that... - As said, I'm going to tell you as soon as we're on our way. For now, we have to hurry. Damn, you look breathtaking, Lizzy!'  
Smiling and blushing Elizabeth answered: 'Thank you. And I'm ready to leave anyway. Wasn't your uncle supposed to come back and get me after dropping you off at the church?'  
'Yep, but...' he trailed off, peeking around the corner to see whether the coast was still clear. It was.  
'You're going to tell me on our way,' his bride finished the sentence for him.  
'Exactly. - Down the back stairs, please.'  
'Why does this feel as if we are criminals on the run?'  
'Eh...'  
'Never mind, Will. By the way, you look stunning as well, if one is allowed to say so to a man.'  
'Only you and to me,' Darcy grinned, for the first time in over half an hour while the two of them basically ran through the narrow servants' corridors of Pemberley House.  
Finally, well, about two minutes later, they were seated in the classy Rolls Royce, while his uncle was now safely behind the steering wheel of his own car again.  
'Lambton parish church, Sir?' he inquired, chauffeur-style as if he didn't know their destination, and besides, he was already rounding the corner and getting in line behind the buses.  
Hiring the two mini-buses to get their families to church proved to be a brilliant idea, for this way, no-one could get lost. And obviously Tom Bennet had done his job well and instructed the drivers exactly where to go whilst keeping everybody else in the dark. As it was, occasionally they could see the one or other confused face stare at them from the back row of the bus before them. - Kitty, Mary, Lydia and Georgiana, who wildly gesticulated as if wanting to tell him that thay had no idea what was going on.  
Well, Elizabeth stared just as helplessly back at them as they were staring at her, occasionally shrugging her shoulders.  
'Will, what is going on?' she eventually asked, when they were already half-way there.  
'To give you an idea as to what was going on down at the chapel: people piling themselves on top of each other, no spaces left in the car park and balloons filled with glitter that seemingly popped up out of nowhere, plus someone brought a fucking stereo and is playing ABBA at an ear-splitting volume. - In short, we're getting married in Lambton. - With just the family present and then we see what is to be done later.'  
All Elizabeth could say was: 'Mamma Mia, here we go again...'  
She couldn't have said it any better. Though for once, Darcy was pretty sure that his mother in law had nothing to do with it. After all, she had been busy with the nursery, so that only left one obvious culprit, and sure enough, they had barely stopped in front of the church, the priest waiting with a slightly confused expression on his visage, when his aunt stormed over to him.  
'Fitzwilliam, what is the meaning of this? I demand to know!'  
'I'm getting married as I'm sure you know, Aunt Cathy.'  
'But... - You were supposed to get married in your own little chapel, weren't you? I took such care and...'  
'And told everyone who would stand still long enough to listen that they are all welcome to join us and also managed to organise some _nice_ balloons to surprise us, glitter and all, and let's not forget ABBA, of course.'  
'It was supposed to be such a lovely wedding, and now you've ruined it! I've planned many events, you know, and all of them were a complete success.'  
Yeah right, the only reason they never ended up being a complete disaster was because Anne took care of everything behind her mother's back...  
'Ready?' the parson inquired after the first hubbub had somewhat subsided, though he still appeared to be quite bewildered at the equally confused looking group of people before him.  
'Yes.'  
'I'll turn on the bells then and... - eh, I'm afraid our organist is at work at the moment, so...'  
'Don't worry, I'll play,' Georgie sounded up. 'I mean, I would've done anyway, so no probs.'  
'Good. Then let's get this over with.'  
Again, Darcy couldn't have put it any better.  
But in the end, the ceremony was all they had ever wanted. Quiet, nice, and with vows spoken as heartfelt as any spoken by two people so deeply in love as his Elizabeth and him.

Life _was_ wonderful, no matter what, and if the shit was in the mood for it, it was welcome to hit the fan anytime it liked, for nothing could ruin his day now.

 _To be continued... - Eventually._

 _Yes, there will be a sequel, but it'll take me a while to write it, obviously. But as it is, I already have a couple of ideas in my head. Anyway, thank you all so much for reading and reviewing. Your support is greatly appreciated._

 _Love_

 _Nic_


End file.
